


Smooth Sailing (With A Chance Of Definite Passion)

by laschatzi



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 104,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laschatzi/pseuds/laschatzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>picks up right at the end of season 3 and tells the development of the relationship between Emma and Hook. Little canon divergence: neither Elsa nor Marian have been brought back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They'd Be Crazy Not To

**Chapter 1:**

**They'd Be Crazy Not To**

They’d both completely lost track of time, lost in themselves and their newfound closeness there in the cold of Granny's outdoor patio. They were so enveloped in their own little microcosm that neither of them felt anything except an all-encompassing warmth glowing inside which seemed to heat up the chilly air. Emma had gradually moved in to Hook so closely that she was almost sitting on his lap; he still cradled her head in his hand while her fingers were entangled in his hair at the nape of his neck. They softly swayed back and forth like reeds in the wind while kissing, breaking apart again, caressing each other’s face, running gentle fingertips over scruffy jaws, silky cheeks and smiling lips... smiling – happy, unbelieving smiles – and kissing again. Not a single word had been uttered since his plain and simple, yet so mind-blowing, _“Aye.”_

Only a few moments had passed since Emma moved in for that kiss and Hook – after a few seconds of disbelief – had raised his hand to her head and kissed her back, very slowly and carefully at first, then stopping midway like he wanted to make sure that she really, really was accepting this. Embracing it. Or maybe it had been minutes? Hell, as for them, it could have been hours. Nothing, nobody seemed to matter or even exist anymore but them.

In reality, not more than ten minutes had passed since Emma had left the diner to sit down opposite the man she’d been so painfully missing while celebrating inside with the rest of her family. _You don't have a home until you just miss it..._ and suddenly she’d realized that being there with all of her family and friends surrounding her, yet having him nowhere in sight made her feel like a part of her was missing. And for a crazy, dreadful moment she’d feared that he had just gone, left for good this time, tired of chasing… of waiting.

Words could not express the relief she’d felt when a panicky, searching look outside the window revealed Hook's lonesome figure sitting out there on the deserted porch, his fingers playing with his ever-present rum flask on the small round table in front of him, his breath forming little clouds in the chilly air, and his gaze lost somewhere, nowhere. Absurdly enough, despite their successful adventure and their victory over fate and time, he looked like he was thoroughly defeated. Emma had never seen a lonelier man in her life. Her heart had clenched almost painfully, and she’d headed straight for the door, finally letting herself be guided only by her feelings; completely unaware and uncaring of the attentive, curious looks which follower her out of the diner.

All that had mattered in that moment was making him understand that nothing of all this – her, finally accepting where she belonged, where her home was, who she was – would have been possible without him. Maybe he knew that already, but she had to make him understand that now _she_ knew it, too. Yes, Henry had brought her home two years ago, but Hook had been the one to finally make her realize just that. _Home_. In a way, he’d brought her home, too – twice now. Moreover, he’d helped her defend and save that home countless times, and somewhere along the way he’d become part of that home, too.

Despite Emma’s conviction, she’d hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaving the safe harbor of the restaurant and the friends surrounding her. With her hand already on the door handle, cold fingers of doubt seemed to grab a hold of her heart, and she’d thrown another cursory glance at Hook sitting out there alone, a nervous one this time. He’d looked lonely and defeated, yes – but suddenly she hadn't been quite so sure of how he would react to her approach. Granted, he hadn't left, but what if he had indeed grown tired of the chase? Of waiting and hoping for her to change her mind? His words from long ago had reverberated in her head, his voice low and husky and with a touch of cynicism: _“... just as I am done... with you.”_ That had been his reaction to her very first display of mistrust towards him when she’d left him in shackles on that beanstalk; the first time she’d willfully disregarded her own instincts. She hadn’t dared trust him back then and had done little since to show him how much that had changed.

Sure, Hook was a different man now, too – a man who still knew her better than herself and understood her ever-present fear of being deserted – but when she’d told him in Rumple's vault that she truly wanted to stop running, and that she’d finally understood what it was she’d been seeking all along without so much as mentioning him in the process, not even giving him an inkling of hope that he could be a part of that home, too... had that been one blow too many? Was he done now? If she opened up to him now – would he respectfully decline and walk away? Emma knew that would destroy a part of her forever, and for a moment, her fear of rejection had almost gotten the better of her. She’d even loosened her grip on the door handle a little before her mother's voice had flashed through her mind: _“Well, there's only one way to find out...”_

So she’d straightened her back, drawn a deep breath and gone out there, completely clueless about what she was going to say to him, but determined to do her best. Each footstep had been weighted by her nerves, but she’d finally done it… crossed a bridge of her own making that led directly into his arms.

She never wanted to be away from home, from him again – and now he knew it.

When they heard someone clearing his throat out of nowhere, it took Emma and Hook a few seconds to come back to earth again. Their lips parted reluctantly, and for a second their stares seemed so interwoven with each other that they weren't able to look anywhere else. But when the little noise was repeated with some urgency, both turned their heads towards the sound. Hook sobered within the blink of an eye when he saw David standing there, not far away from the table where they were seated. _Oh bloody hell._ He froze like a statue under David's stony gaze.

Emma blushed and let her right hand drop slowly from Hook's face, though she didn't really back away from him. Her father would have to deal with it sooner or later anyway. The silence was a little awkward, but before it could get really uncomfortable David broke it, motioning vaguely towards the couple.

"Can we have a word?" he asked.

Hook was quick to get up from his seat, not before somewhat guiltily, unconsciously running his thumb over his mouth. “Ah, I'll just...”

Much to his and Emma's surprise though, David raised his hand as if to stop him. “No, I meant...” – he nodded towards the man in black – “...with _you_.”

Hook froze in mid-movement – completely taken aback – and raised his eyebrows, his eyes darting to Emma. She returned his anxious, slightly annoyed look with a confused pursing of her lips. Then she looked quickly at David, trying to read her father's expression, and although he wasn't smiling, she knew him well enough to already detect the smile in the corners of his eyes. It surprised her a bit and pleased her immensely at the same time. She still didn't know what he wanted from Hook right now, but she knew he wouldn't knock him out flat. Relieved, Emma turned her eyes to her man again, a very slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She shrugged and rose slowly from her seat.

David was still looking questioningly at Hook until the pirate finally found his voice again, even if it sounded somehow a little defeated. "Ah... why, of course, mate." He forced a little unhappy smile and slumped down on the chair again.

Before walking away from him, Emma lightly touched her hand to his shoulder and, giving him an encouraging little smile, bent down to him and whispered in his ear: “Keep smiling, buddy...”

Then she turned around and walked towards the diner. Hook rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Wonderful,” he grumbled to himself.

When Emma walked past David she threw him a sheepish little smile and slightly tilted her head as if wanting to ask him to... she didn't even know what, but she guessed it was just what any daughter would’ve asked from her father when he wanted to "have a word" with her boyfriend, as Regina had called Hook what seemed ages ago. Emma made a mental note never to underestimate Regina's intuition again. David's eyes smiled at her, invisible for Hook though, and he nudged her arm with his elbow and bent his head a little down to her.

“Don't worry,” he muttered dryly under his breath, “I'm still a married man.”

Emma grinned to herself and made her way into the diner, leaving her pirate to stir in his own juices for a few moments longer.

Hook scratched nervously behind his ear while David slowly approached the small round table and took the seat which had been occupied by Emma just a minute ago, without waiting for a further invite. Hook knew that sooner or later the moment would come when he had to deal with Emma's parents; but really, was it asking too much to revel in his newfound happiness a little longer than ten bloody minutes before having to face the judgment of a jealous, overprotective father? He sighed inwardly and braced himself for a tirade of some sort; after all, he hadn't forgotten the prince's _"You won't get my daughter, I'll see to that"_ and all the other displays of disapproval and mistrust. Surely, David had obviously started to trust him a little more lately, maybe even respect him or, at the very least, acknowledge his efforts to protect Emma. Hadn’t he?

Hook hadn't forgotten how the prince had insisted Hook go with his daughter to face the bloody Wicked Witch, even when Emma hadn't wanted to take him. He hadn't shown it much, of course not, but David's curt _“Zelena backed you into a corner, you did the best you could”_ had meant a lot to him. But of course nothing of that was a guarantee that the prince approved of his daughter – the princess – dallying, let alone being amorously involved with someone like him: an outlaw, a varlet, a rapscallion... maybe something like a hero now – although that had never been his aim – but, after all, still _nothing but a pirate._

Only now Hook noticed that the other man had been carrying two glasses of beer in his hand. He put one on the table in front of Hook and raised his own in an inviting gesture. Hook wasn't sure what to make of it, but he took the offered glass, raised it and nodded, and both men drank. When they put down the glasses almost simultaneously, David finally spoke. "Quite the day, huh?" he asked almost casually and added, “Or for you even more than one day, I assume?”

Hook was astounded and a little thrown off track that David didn't even address what he’d just witnessed. A little confused, he did what he was best at and tried to play it smooth. "Aye, that it was..."

David cleared his throat. "I want to apologize to you, Hook."

Now, that had been completely unexpected! Hook raised his eyebrows, and underneath them his blue eyes widened in surprise and darted to the prince without his head moving. "Apologize, mate?"

Emma's father nodded. “Maybe I made it a little...” David shrugged “...too hard for you at times.” He looked firmly at Hook. “I should have trusted you more... and sooner."

That was even more unexpected. Hook had always respected, even admired to a certain extent, the other man's fierce determination to do everything to fight for his family and to always do the honorable thing; but sometimes he’d felt a tad of self-righteousness shine through, or so it had seemed to him. But here was a man not too proud to admit a mistake and even apologizing for it. That was anything but self-righteous... it was a sign of true grandness.

With a tilt of his head, Hook raised his eyebrows and looked down at his glass. "Well, I admit I might not have always been the shining epitome of honor and trustworthiness that I am now." David turned his eyes down at the table and suppressed a grin at the obvious irony, and Hook waved his hand apologetically. “And sadly, I also have to admit I sided with various villains on a few occasions...” Only the way his fingers thrummed restlessly on his glass betrayed his slight discomfort.

David nodded earnestly and looked him directly in the eyes. “That you did,” he agreed. “But I understand that vengeance can be a strong motivator.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “I never was the type for that, but by God, if anyone ever killed someone I love...” He saw Hook's eyes darken which gave him a reminder of how dangerous he could actually be and went on quickly: “Anyway, you let go of that when you turned around to offer your ship and your services.” For a moment he was distracted and frowned. “Where is your ship, by the way? Still in New York?”

Hook's jaw tightened. “The Jolly Roger is gone.”

“Gone?” David echoed, his voice clueless. “How?”

“Ah...” Hook hadn't been prepared for so much heart-to-heart talk. He rubbed his index finger over the scruff on his chin and replied lightly, “That's a story for another time.”

David threw him a sly glance. “Maybe by the next campfire we share... Prince Charles?” Hook raised his eyebrows in question, and David added with a grin, “Emma told us everything about your big adventure.” Hook grinned back a little sheepishly and scratched behind his ear again, for a moment not sure what to say. He just hoped that Emma's father would understand their little charade had been necessary and had not meant to be sneaky in any way. But David went on with a determined nod: "And I never got to give you credit and thank you for what you've done."

More surprises? "Done?” Hook repeated.

David nodded. "If it wasn't for you, my daughter wouldn't be here." He didn't specify, but thought to himself about the various places Hook had brought her back from and the occasions he had saved her: New York, Neverland, the Enchanted Forest, Rumplestiltskin's vault by encouraging her to open the time portal again... there were so many of them. "Or myself, for all that matters,” he added and shook his head. “And Snow and I would never..."

"You _would_ have," Hook interrupted firmly. "If not on the troll bridge, then elsewhere. Some things are meant to be." For a moment, his gaze drifted off, and he saw Emma's green eyes dancing before his – sparkling, soft and vulnerable and finally so happy, speaking to him, directly to his heart.

David tilted his head with a smile. "Sadly, I have to agree with you again... _mate_."

Hook snorted a little laugh and looked down at the table. "Seems that's becoming a nasty habit..."

For a moment, they just sat there in not exactly uncomfortable silence, then David remarked thoughtfully and with a slightly incredulous shake of his head: "Funny that of all people it was Captain Hook to convince me to wait for the right woman to show up... to believe in True Love.” He raised his hands. “No offense."

Hook fidgeted with his flask, still lying useless and untouched on the table. "None taken.” He grinned. “I can hardly blame you for saying so, now can I? The old Captain Hook probably wouldn't have.” A shadow flew over his scruffy, handsome face when he tilted his head thoughtfully. “He didn't believe in that himself."

David nodded. “I know. I do remember your darkest secret.” He looked Hook directly in the eyes, thinking back to the memorable moment in the Echo cave in Neverland when he’d confessed that Emma had opened his heart to love again. Hook shifted a little uncomfortably on his seat as David went on. “And I do remember that prince who would go to the end of the world for his princess... or time.” Hook licked his lips and grinned uncharacteristically shyly. David leaned a little forward and continued: “Turns out, he actually did. Face it, pirate... you're a hero in more than one sense.” He slapped Hook’s leather-clad shoulder. "It's about bloody time you embrace that, mate." He gave a miserable imitation of the other man's typical way of talking, and Hook couldn't help but smirk at him.

After a few moments of amicable silence they both took another swig from their glasses until finally, David got up and motioned towards the restaurant with his head. "Come on, let's go inside. Everyone's asking where you are."

Hook raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Is that so?"

David laughed. "Well, how about… our ladies are waiting."

Hook's ears pricked up. Had he just said _our ladies_? He decided not to push his luck too far by making some pushy remark – he was surprised at how good this talk had been. So, he simply got up and followed David with a lopsided grin on his face. "Never make a lady wait has always been my motto,” he declared, “that would absolutely be bad form."

David rooted to the spot abruptly and turned around to throw an almost icy expression over his shoulder. Hook immediately froze and wished he hadn't said anything. Bloody hell, had that sounded too flippant to Emma's father's ears? It wasn't a secret in any realm that Captain Hook had always been a ladies' man during his many years as a restless farer of the Seven Seas, but it hadn't really been very smart to bring that back to the prince's mind.

David gave him a glare. "Oh, and pirate? Just so you know..." he paused for a moment. “Unless you hurt the princess – and in that case her father would have to run you through –” Hook raised his eyebrows in question again, and David nodded almost curtly as he continued; "...her parents approve." And with that, he turned around again without further ado and entered the diner. A huge grin split Hook's face as he followed him inside, into the light and warmth.

Emma was waiting inside, standing at the counter right near the door. David passed by her without a word with Hook close at his heels. Her father was one thing, but she couldn't believe that Hook wasn't making any move to stop by and offer any explanation either. She stopped him with her hand against his chest and whispered, “Hey! What was that about?”

Hook felt so elated about the turn the evening had taken that he was completely in the mood for teasing once more. So he just looked down at her hand on his chest, threw her a wink and smirked, suddenly all dashing rapscallion again. “And wouldn't you like to know,” he replied smoothly, throwing her own words back at her. He sauntered past her, casually yet deliberately brushing his thigh against hers while steering towards the Charmings' table and sitting down opposite Mary Margaret and David without further ado. Emma's disbelieving gaze followed him, open-mouthed, unconsciously drinking in the sight of him as he strutted through the diner like he owned the place. Of course, the long black leather coat prevented her from really seeing anything, but she just loved to watch the way he walked, she always had, with that insolent pirate swagger.

“Emma?” Granny's voice came from behind the counter and woke her from her reverie. “What can I do for you? Cocoa?”

“Hmmm? Ah... yes,” she replied absentmindedly, still not able to take her eyes off of Hook’s back. _That cheeky bastard!_

Mary Margaret gave the new arrival at her table a probing, almost severe and even slightly haughty look. Hook had seen that look on many occasions from her, and often rightfully so. He had to admit when he replayed back their various encounters from the past and the innuendos he’d thrown at her, he hadn’t exactly given her cause to warm to him. Mary Margaret raised her chin and addressed him directly. “So... you still fancy my daughter, pirate?”

The fairest one of all had never been the one for fair talking, and Hook knew there was no use in trying to be evasive now. His eyebrows twitched, and he tilted his head in that inimitable way of his that was a nod, a shrug and the hint of an old-fashioned bow all in one. It was a _yes_.

“You might wish you had squashed me when you had the chance,” she told him in a challenging tone, but in her eyes there was a surprising hint of softness and mild teasing.

“That's a risk I'm willing to take,” was his only half-mocking answer.

Mary Margaret nodded slowly. “I always wondered why dreaded pirate Captain Hook wanted me to steal a specific wedding ring, when he simply could’ve turned me in for the reward or demanded gold for a passage on his ship,” she finally said thoughtfully. Hook grinned, scratched behind his ear and looked down for a second in that way of his before looking at her again. She leaned a little forward. “You were on a _mission_.”

He ran his ringed thumb up and down the beer glass and threw her a half-sheepish, half-amused look from under his thick eyebrows, his head slightly tilted down. “Apparently so, love,” he replied.

Mary Margaret nodded again and looked at her husband. David smiled, and she turned back to Hook. “Thank you for bringing her back, twice,” she finally told him solemnly, motioning her head to Emma who still stood at the counter with her mouth somewhat agape at the sight of her parents and Hook obviously about to get all chatty while she was waiting for her cocoa.

Hook shrugged. “I do assure you my reasons were purely selfish,” he answered lightly and stole a glance at Emma from under his long eyelashes, distracted for a moment by the sight of her blonde locks falling down softly over the back of her red leather jacket. Without being aware of it, he moistened his lips and lightly rubbed the tips of his thumb and index finger together, recreating the feeling of running them through her hair when they had kissed outside. Had that been only less than ten minutes ago?

Mary Margaret's eyes followed his gaze, and she smiled almost fondly in a reluctant way when she saw how his scruffy, handsome face shone as he looked at her daughter, like suddenly everything else around him had lost its meaning. How had she never noticed that before? Or, maybe she had noticed it, but misinterpreted it completely – more as the look of a predator looking at his prey. But there was so much more to him, she saw that now. “Of course,” she replied with benevolent irony in her voice, “always the pirate.”

Hook turned to her again with a grin and tilted his head again in what was his own special way of shrugging. “Afraid so, Milady,” he purred and winked at her, like he had done before a few times already, minus the lewdness of course.

This time, instead of rolling her eyes, she just shook her head and looked down at her newborn son sleeping peacefully in her arms. Without looking at Hook, she smiled and quietly replied, _“Liar.”_

He snorted a little laugh and raised his glass to Mary Margaret with a slight bow of his head to which she replied with a very similar gesture. The rest remained unsaid, but he understood anyway what she was trying to say; or, to be more specific, what she was trying to do. Just like David, only a short time ago, she had been very quick to fall into her old pattern of _“don't trust the pirate”_ again at the slightest opportunity, even if she could – and should – have known better, because he had more than proven his loyalty by then. Before their journey to Neverland, he had to admit that he hadn't given her – or anyone else – many reasons to trust him.

But this was nothing more and nothing less than Her Royal Highness Princess Snow White offering her apologies to Captain Hook, the pirate. He’d never cared much about what people thought of him – except for very few people, that is – but he allowed himself to enjoy the appreciation he knew he’d just received. David's words reverberated in his head: _her parents approve_. As if he had read his thoughts, David grinned at Hook, gave him a barely perceptible nod and emptied his glass in one big gulp.

“You guys... okay?” Emma asked, and he almost jumped, not having noticed she’d finally approached the family table. _Family table?_ He shook his head at himself even as he thought, _“I could get used to that”._ She slid on the seat bench beside him, not before flashing him one of her smiles that had been so very rare until lately. He could – and hopefully _would_ – get used to them, too. Almost casually, she brushed the back of her left hand against his right leg under the table. The light touch made the skin of his leg underneath the black leather tingle, but what thrilled him even more was the ease and naturalness of her move.

“More than okay,” David replied before Hook had pulled his wits together enough to answer, which was a remarkable thing by itself. “But I think,” – he lightly touched Mary Margaret's shoulder – “we should take your brother home now.” His wife nodded, and they both got up from the table.

The goodbye ceremony was over in a few moments, and Emma and Hook were left alone at the table. Immediately, the air seemed filled with the invisible thrum of buzzing electricity. Charged and heavy. She turned to him and saw that he was looking at her expectantly with sparkling, dancing eyes.

Emma swallowed once before jumping to a neutral topic. “Do I have to apologize for my parents?” she asked with a sheepish grin, perfectly well aware that David and Mary Margaret hadn't made it any easier for him than she had; actually, he’d even had a harder time earning their trust than hers, although David had seemed to warm up to him a little earlier than his wife.

“That won't be necessary, love,” he told her and leaned a little back, resting his right arm on the back of the seat, his hand hanging down and his knuckles casually, lightly brushing her shoulder. “Although, come to think of it...” a roguish glint appeared in his eyes and he rolled his tongue through his mouth in that very distracting way of his. “Just what exactly would an apology of Your Highness have looked like, Swan?”

She let the hot cocoa swirl in her mug and threw him one of her suggestive smiles from under her long eyelashes. _Bloody hell,_ he would have to get used to _those_ , too. “I guess we'll never find out now...” she told him with feigned regret and took a sip from the aromatic beverage. The melting whipped cream left a trace on her upper lip, and she looked him directly in the eyes while she licked the cream off her lip in a slow tease, enjoying the sight of his jaw almost dropping to the floor.

Hook almost didn't trust his eyes; her barely veiled sensual gesture and her expression and flirty voice almost took his breath away. Granted, she had flirted with him before, but that had always held some sort of _it's-not-going-to-happen-anyway-mate_ attitude, although deep down he’d always known better. But now that things between them had changed, her flirting had come to have a completely different meaning. It was nothing more and nothing less than a promise – a promise that made his head dizzy and his blood boil. Without even noticing, he licked his lips and shifted a little restlessly on that bench.

The boy's voice suddenly woke him from his daydreams. “Find out what?” Henry asked as he walked up to their table and sat on the bench where his grandparents had just been.

“Ah... about the secret ingredient of Granny's lasagna,” Emma quickly and smoothly replied, and Hook grinned to himself. His lass had indeed the sneakiness of a true pirate in her.

But Henry wasn't that easily fooled. He rolled his eyes at his mother. “I don't even wanna know,” he commented with all the wisdom of his 12 years, and Emma was taken aback. “Mom, is it okay if I spend the night... you now...” He motioned his head to Regina who was standing across the room, leaning against the bar. Robin was at her side, carrying his sleeping son on his arm. The look Regina gave him was definitely... _yearning_ , Emma thought to herself with amusement. She made a mental note to tease the Evil Queen about exactly that.

“Spend the night at your other mom's house?” she suggested with an encouraging smile, and Henry nodded a little hesitantly. Emma put her hands on his shoulders. “Listen, kid, once and for all… it's okay to call her your mom, too, because...” she paused briefly, then nodded – to her son and to herself – “...because that's what she is. And yes, of course it's okay to spend the night there, as long as it's okay with her.” She looked over at her former enemy again.

“She said it is,” Henry told her eagerly. “And I think Robin and Roland are staying, too.”

Emma shrugged. “If that's okay with you, kid?”

“You've got to be kidding me, mom!” Henry exclaimed and jumped up from his seat; Emma raised her eyebrows in question. “I mean, seriously,” – he waved his hand at her and Hook in an all-encompassing way – “my mom is dating _Captain Hook_ , and my other mom is making out with _Robin Hood!_ ” He laughed. “How cool is that?” Hook suppressed a grin while he watched mother and son interact.

Emma was taken aback. This kid scared the hell out of her sometimes. “Ahm, I...” she started, but Henry had already turned away and was running over to Regina who greeted him with one of those smiles reserved only for him and ruffled his hair. She looked at Emma and gave her a friendly nod; Emma returned the gesture, and then the little group left the diner.

Hook cleared his throat and Emma turned to him again. “The lad seems to approve...” he waved his hand between himself and his Swan in a gesture very similar to Henry's before “...but you'll have to enlighten me, love. What exactly did he mean by... _dating_?” He raised his eyebrows in question, and his fingers almost casually played with a strand of her hair.

Emma grinned at his confusion that made her handsome, blatantly self-confident, sexy pirate nothing but adorable. It would be fun to introduce him further to modern times. “Ah... yeah, dating... that means... it means that you and me...” He leaned a little forward and looked at her with curious, expectant eyes of a blazing blue that had already seen so much, yet were so clueless sometimes. She scoured her mind for an old-fashioned synonym that her three hundred years old pirate would understand, and then her face lit up and she snapped her fingers. “ _Courting_!” she offered. “Dating means pretty much courting.”

“I see...” He nodded thoughtfully and leaned back with a pleased grin into a pose that couldn't be described other than smug. He rested his hook on the enormous silver buckle of his broad leather belt; a gesture that she had secretly always found weirdly sexy. “The lad's right, Swan. You are indeed courting me.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“I'm _not_!” Emma replied indignantly, but not as fiercely as she had planned. Blushing slightly, she suppressed a grin and slapped his arm with the back of her hand.

“Come on, everyone can see it!” he teased with a nonchalant move of his hand, and she didn't even bother to fight back the happy grin any longer. In fact, she was done suppressing anything, and she had never felt better.

She shook her head and smiled. “Scoundrel,” she chastised.

He chuckled and tilted his head, looking down at his hand as it played with the almost empty beer glass. “Aye, that I am,” he purred. Emma's gaze followed his, and for a moment she got lost just watching Hook's ringed index finger painting patterns into the condensed moisture on the outside of the glass. Then suddenly, he pushed it away and turned to her. “Come on, Swan,” he said. “It’s time we take our leave.”


	2. Because You Want me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We left Hook and Emma at Granny's, right after his suggestion that they should take their leave now. But what destination does he have in mind?

**Chapter 2:**

**Because You Want Me**

Had she just heard right? _Come on, Swan; it’s time we take our leave._

Emma was taken completely by surprise at this sudden suggestion. She‘d just started to enjoy their sitting together, flirting, doing the couple dance for the first time, and she was amazed at how comfortable it felt; how easily she‘d slipped on the new situation. It felt like a fancy pair of gloves that she‘d secretly tried on countless times, but never dared to wear, only to find out now that they fit perfectly... were exactly right... not ridiculous at all. She wanted to revel in it, sit close to him without being anxious of sitting too close; maybe even lean into him a little and run her hand up and down his arm, completely uncaring if anyone watched. But then again... she looked into his shining blue eyes, saw the adorably adoring smile on his face – bare of any teasing now – and it simply took her breath away, hitting her right in the pit of her stomach. In that moment, she forgot where she was. Time and place, or who else was present was irrelevant. She forgot what she‘d wanted to say or even how to breathe. All she wanted now was to be alone with him – to find out how perfectly that glove _really_ fit. Obviously, he was having similar thoughts judging by his sudden suggestion that they should go.

“Leave?” she echoed feebly and thought: _Oh God, this is really happening!_

Hook nodded. “It's been a long day.” He waved his hand. “Days.” She still saw no teasing, no lewdness on his face. Obviously, he was determined to be discreet. _I'm always a gentleman._

“Okay,” Emma replied and swallowed her agitation. With some effort she slipped out of the booth, suddenly feeling clumsier than ever, her palms sweating. Her legs didn't seem so firm right now, and she wasn't sure if that was due to the strain she’d gone through in the last hours – no, Hook was right; it had been days, at least for them – or if the reason for her wobbly legs was the eager anticipation she felt, the expectancy of something exciting and unspeakably sweet, something wonderful yet delightfully dangerous. The more she thought of it, the shakier her legs seemed to become. Emma tried to concentrate on just setting one foot in front of the other step-by-step, nodding her good nights to the left and to the right while shaking a few hands. She hardly noticed what she was saying to whom, just hoping it made at least some sense. She probably looked like an idiot, but she reasoned that she didn't really care. _Let them think what they wanted._

Hook followed her, pleasantly surprised at how many respectful, even friendly nods were thrown his way. He was quick enough to open the door for Emma, and they wordlessly left the diner and stepped out into the cold again, though neither of them really felt it. They were both too enveloped in their warm, fuzzy bubble to be bothered by it. They walked in silence; the sleeve of her red jacket brushing against his heavy leather coat was their only point of contact. It could’ve been any other evening in Storybrooke with the pirate walking beside the sheriff as usual – an onlooker might not even realize they were a couple – but the secret understanding which had always hung between them had reached a new level.

Slowly, shoulder by shoulder, they crossed the small outdoor patio, passing by their table. Emma smiled to herself, replaying their talk... their kiss in her head. She could still taste his lips on hers and feel his hand in her hair, his delicate tongue carefully exploring her mouth. She knew that many, many more kisses would follow, but she also knew that she would never forget this one and how it had felt – the first one deliberately given and shared, not born from an overload of emotions and confusion in a surreal, hostile surrounding. This one had been unspeakably careful, soft and sweet, but also passionate, full of understanding and happiness – no, more than happiness; pure bliss. At the same time, it‘d held so many promises: promises of home, of love, a future... even if she knew damn well that it wouldn't be all sunshine and roses.

Hook sensed that Emma had slowed her step a bit and glanced at her from the side. That one look was enough for him to know what she was thinking. For him, it was simply written all over her face, and to see that happiness in her features made his heart dance and ache with the love he felt for this woman. And there was more. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming desire well up inside of him that ran like a bolt of lightning through his whole body and fogged his sight. He‘d always more than “fancied” her – physically as well as for her spirit and intellect – but the fact that he now knew they would take that ultimate step soon and be really and truly united made his desire all the more powerful. It cost him all the self-control he could muster to stay calm now. Still, he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms again, run his hand through her golden hair and kiss her dizzy. He knew he easily could have, had he the intention to, but he made no such move. Hook had learned over the course of three hundred restless years every way there was to make a woman lose her senses in his arms and give in to him easily, even make her _beg_ him to take her, but that was not what he wanted for this woman; at least not for the first time they would finally become one. He loved Emma Swan with all his heart and soul, and his promise of no trickery would remain until the final step. Until she was ready.

He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his mouth unconsciously, reveling in her dreamy expression once more. Tentatively, but at the same time completely naturally, Emma put her hand on his leather-clad shoulder. He enjoyed the feeling and flashed her one of his heart-stopping smiles from the side.

“Are you going to tell me what David wanted?” she asked with an almost challenging smile. “And what Mary Margaret told you?”

“Quite persistent, aren't we?” he teased. He didn't want to look like he was bragging about her father and mother apologizing to him; like always when someone addressed him “being good” or a hero, it embarrassed him. He wasn't used to that yet and had never been looking for that kind of glory either. “Let's just say we had a little heart-to-heart talk.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Came clean about a few things.”

Emma nudged him playfully. More intimate gestures, he was thrilled to notice. “He likes you,” she declared and could barely hide how happy that made her. “They both do.”

Hook tilted his head and shrugged. “I'm a very amiable fellow,” he commented smoothly, “it just took them a tad longer to notice.” But Emma could see how pleased he was himself that he seemed to be winning over her parents at last. Of course, he couldn't help but add with a cheeky grin: “Must run in the family, too.”

She chuckled and decided not to poke any further and just leave it at that. Again, she kind of got lost in simply looking at him, like she was just now really _seeing_ him for the first time. He‘d been something like her ever-present shadow for so long – quiet sometimes, and sometimes oh so irritating; infuriating even... but always there, tenacious, reliable and imperturbable. She‘d gotten used to it, just like everybody else in Storybrooke seemed to. Even if he sometimes said inconvenient things to her that challenged and forced her to question herself, her own goals and beliefs, she‘d never felt uncomfortable in his presence. In fact, she’d actually come to really appreciate it and had felt increasingly like something was missing when he wasn't around. Like earlier, when she‘d been sitting inside Granny's with her parents and baby brother and all the other residents of Storybrooke – and suddenly she‘d noticed that the scenery just wasn't complete, and that something didn't feel right. _Home_ , she thought, and for the first time she really, fully realized that he was part of that feeling, part of that home.

“What is it?” Hook's voice shook her from her reverie, and it took her a few seconds to focus on his face again; her gaze had drifted off somehow.

Emma smiled and shook her head. “Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head a little forward. “And why are you looking at me like that?” He grinned and waved his hand. “Not that I would dare complain.”

She opened her mouth, but before the words could tumble out – there will be a perfect time and place for that, she thought vaguely – she just shrugged and said lightly; “Well, I told you I wouldn't take my eyes off of you.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Aye, that you did. Alas, they did wander astray somewhere along the way...” he teased.

Emma sighed and inclined her head a bit, looking at him with a little sheepish smile from under her long eyelashes. “Yeah...” Her smile faded into a more serious look, a faint memory of a despicable monstrous creature crossed her mind: her almost-fiancé. But then, she guessed she couldn't be held responsible for that misstep – Pan's curse and the forgetting spell were to blame for her eyes‘ momentary detour. “Yours never did.”

He shook his head solemnly. “Not for one minute.”

They’d moved on slowly and now reached the little fence separating Granny’s property from the road. Emma’s heart started to beat faster as she eyed the path which would take them in the direction of Granny’s side entrance, leading directly to the guest rooms where she was sure they were headed. She started to question how she would manage to even walk straight, so dizzy was her head starting to feel. Every step she would be taking now would shorten the distance between being out here in the chilly open and finally being alone with Hook in the cocooning warmth of his bedroom. _His bedroom!_ God, the thought alone made more than a little warmth spread from the depth of her belly throughout her whole body – it was more of an inferno. But when she turned to the right, she was surprised to slightly bump into his leather-clad front as he turned in the opposite direction. He caught her left elbow in his hand, and she let out a little involuntary gasp.

“Where are we going?” Emma asked with a slight furrow of her brow.

Hook seemed genuinely confused. “Why, I'm seeing you safely to your vessel, of course,” he replied, and she thought she‘d heard wrong and looked at him with wide, startled eyes. “Ah... unless you'd prefer me to escort you home, of course,” he went on quickly, sensing but not understanding Emma's bewilderment, and added; “which I reckoned is a bit too distanced to walk at night.”

She was totally puzzled. “But... but I thought... we...” she stuttered, unable to form a coherent sentence, and then finally fell silent, feeling silly. A warm blush crept slowly over her face. Had she made a complete idiot of herself now by entirely misinterpreting his intentions?

Suddenly, the scales fell from his eyes and Hook realized in absolute disbelief what his Swan's intention had been; obviously, she‘d been ready and willing to give herself completely to him tonight already – something he never would‘ve dared to expect, even with the development their relationship had already taken. But to see in her wide green eyes that his lady had really sincerely been open to that, filled him with awe and simply took his breath away. He smiled and looked at her long and longingly, raised his left arm and smoothed out her hair ever-so-tenderly with his hook. Emma closed her eyes involuntarily for the fraction of a second at the familiar gesture.

“Believe me, love,” he said in a soft, yet hoarse voice, “I would be more than thrilled to shower you with my...” – he paused for a second to scratch behind his ear – “...prompt attentions...” – and at that point, he couldn't help but run his tongue over his lower lip, it was stronger than him – “...but I presumed after those last eventful and exhausting days you'd prefer to spend the night at home with your family... your loved ones,” he added.

Emma scrutinized him closely, still in disbelief that obviously he was not planning to pluck that sweet apple ready to fall into his open hand. She could see in his expressive, beautiful eyes what a great amount of self-control this was obviously costing him, and she realized that in spite of all his chasing, all his invading her personal space and throwing innuendos... despite all his many displays of lewdness, Killian Jones was indeed a gentleman and was once again putting her first, pushing aside his own wishes and desires that were certainly churning underneath his calm surface. This touched her beyond anything.

Emma smiled with shining eyes and surprised him by slowly and deliberately lacing her right arm through his left, something she had never done before. It was a gesture that seemed oddly old-fashioned, but was all the more endearing as it came from Emma tough-lass Swan. She rested her hand firmly on the leather sheath that held his hook. Its surface felt cool and rough, but at the same time smooth against her fingertips, the warmth of his skin seeping through it. He looked down at her hand and up into her eyes, mouth open and eyebrows raised in question, and she smiled openly at him and simply said: “I do.”

Hook's face was a mirror of all the emotions flooding through him while in his mind flashbacks were replaying all the times she had pushed him away, denied her feelings, fled from him, from _them_.

In Neverland: _“...a one-time thing...”_

In New York: _“...a guy I love...”_

In Storybrooke: _“I'm not embracing anything!”_

_“I can't trust you now, how can I?”_

_“So tell me, what is it? Why you're so scared to stay? I think it's because you can see a future here, a happy one.”_

_“Let me guess – with you?”_

_“Next time you try to take my power away, why don't you try to enchant the lips of someone I'll actually kiss?”_

_“I was never a part of any of this.”_

Her words had hurt, every single time, although he‘d done his best to hide it because he‘d always known that pushing her towards anything she wasn't really ready for would never work out. Emma Swan had to overcome her fears and doubts all by herself and find out what she really wanted, allow herself to be happy and finally believe that it hope and happiness was possible for her. All he could do was stand by her side and show her that he would always have her back and be there for her, no matter what, no matter how hard she tried to push him away. Show her that he was not expecting anything in return from her and that he was putting her first, always.

And now there she was, with her _“I do”_ practically telling him that she‘d come to see him as an equivalent for home, family... and _loved ones_. She wanted to be with him, she really did. After having gone through an ordeal with him – after having won another battle, having saved their world once more – she‘d left his side to run to her family. But now that she‘d come clean with her parents, her son and with finding her home here in Storybrooke, she‘d come to him. His presence was the one she was looking for at the end of the day, and after all had been said and done and concluded, all she wanted now was to be with him – and she was not afraid anymore to admit to that.

Hook swallowed thickly – once, twice... there was a huge lump in his throat that left him almost speechless; something he really wasn't used to, like his own croaky voice almost failing him. “Are you sure, Swan?”

Emma's confident smile never faltered. “I haven't been so sure about anything... in a long, long time,” she told him sincerely.

She saw that her cutthroat ruffian of a pirate was in danger of being overwhelmed by his emotions and could only try to imagine what her response meant to him. The air between them was heavily loaded with unspoken words and thickly swirling with emotions. Emma didn't want to ruin the moment somehow by burdening it with too much weight, so she decided to add a light note – something that usually was his specialty and never had failed to make her smile, even in her darkest hours. She tilted her head and playfully batted her eyelashes.

“Besides... you might not remember it, but I do; you still owe me a nightcap.” She smiled at him flirtatiously, almost encouragingly, shaking her head inwardly at the absurdity of the situation. In her wildest dreams she would never have imagined that one day she'd have to be the one to encourage Killian _it's-about-bloody-time_ Jones to finally make a pass at her. “I've been waiting for it for decades,” she added.

Hook looked down at her hand on his arm again with a little, almost shy laugh, then nodded slowly. When he looked at her again, his blue eyes were clear and focused; he looked at her from under his twitching eyebrows and tilted his head in a slight bow, swaying out his right arm invitingly towards the side entrance of Granny's. “Well, in that case... would you be inclined to honor me with your presence in my humble quarters?”

Emma's heart skipped a beat, and she deliberately picked up his sometimes old-fashioned way of talking that held its very own appeal. “I'd be delighted.”

He answered with a pleased smile and turned away from her, leading the way towards the side entrance of the diner and up the stairs with Emma following him closely. He was glad that for a few moments she couldn't see his face and he had the chance to regain his composure a little. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and let out a deep breath. So, this was actually happening? After all this time of longing, chasing and fighting for her affection, he almost couldn't believe that he finally had her – and she was going to be his completely. Suddenly, his nerves were fluttering and he almost tripped on the stairs. _Damn_ , he chastised himself mentally, _pull yourself together, mate. Act like a man and don't make a twit of yourself!_

Emma on the other hand could tell from the way he carefully set his steps on the stairs that his usual swagger seemed to fail him, but rather than turn her off, it touched a string deep inside her, just as it did every time he let her see his vulnerable side. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she could feel it in her throat. Although she had told him the truth – she was indeed sure she was doing the right thing – that meant by no means she was calm. The heat she‘d felt already before in her stomach had been simmering and boiling and spreading throughout her whole body now, pulsating in every nerve, waiting to erupt. She had an idea that the eruption would be earth shattering. That was enough to make her shiver, in spite of the heat.

They reached the door of Hook's guest room and he pulled a key out of one of the pockets of his coat. For a moment, he looked down at the small key in his ringed hand and threw a questioning glance at Emma. She smiled, and he inserted the key into the keyhole; he had to fumble a bit to turn it and open the door – his fingers were skilled in many ways, but his hand was not used to tiny keys like that, and especially now he was clumsier than ever. Again, Emma was touched beyond anything by his obvious nervousness, and she asked herself where the dashing rapscallion had gone.

Finally they entered the room and Hook closed the door carefully behind them, reaching out to switch on the light. It still seemed a bit like suspicious magic to him, but he‘d learned to adapt to that part of this realm very quickly. The ceiling lamp wasn't very strong though, so the small bedroom was only dimly lit. Automatically, Emma's eyes darted over to the bed that was neatly made – she hadn't it expected anything less from a man who‘d lived in the restricted limits of a ship for centuries. He noticed that his gaze followed hers, and suddenly she blushed, the butterflies in her stomach going in complete uproar.

“Here we are,” he said and waved his hand in a gesture that encompassed the room. “Humble, as I said.”

“ _We_ are here,” she replied and swallowed. “That's enough, I'd say.”

He let out a nervous, yet pleased little laugh. For a moment, they just stood there in utter silence maybe only two feet apart, facing each other. But despite the thrumming, vibrating air, there was no awkwardness between them. Still, Hook was hesitating, struggling with himself about what to do next, and that meant something: how to handle a lass in an amorous encounter had surely never been a problem for him. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms now, kiss her and make her truly his in every way. He knew and felt that Emma had decided to open up to him – had stopped her running away from everything including him, especially him – but there was still a part of him that worried that she might shy back again. After all, she was tired and emotionally agitated like churning waters, and maybe tomorrow she would regret it if she stayed with him now. How could he risk that?

Emma looked at him and instinctively sensed what he was feeling, and she couldn't really blame him for it. She did the only thing she could think of and pulled off her jacket. That red leather jacket had become so much of an armor for her, but with him, she didn't need that any longer. She flung it carelessly over the time-worn chair standing beside the door.

Hook got her message; alas, he still hesitated. He raised his hand, took one strand of her hair and let it run through his fingers almost absentmindedly, his intense blue eyes searching hers. Her eyes darted down to his ringed fingers playing with her hair, and she caught herself thinking _Touch me already!_ His voice was rough when he finally spoke; “Emma... I don't want you to think that I'm just after...” he paused, looking for the right words, and she melted a little more inside “...that I'm not...”

“That you're not in this for the long haul?” she interrupted, and he had to suppress a nervous little laugh. Of course, she was oblivious to the fact that she‘d used the exact same words he had said to Neal over a year ago, when they‘d come back from Neverland and he‘d promised his friend to back off for the sake of Henry, for the sake of giving the boy's parents a fair shot. He just nodded, and she went on. “And I don't want you to think that I'm...” she shrugged, looking for the right word herself now “...easy to get.” She looked at him and smiled. “I guess we’ve both sort of spent the last two years proving exactly the opposite, so there really shouldn't be anything to worry about.”

He snorted a little laugh and tilted his head. “Aye, that we have.”

“So, then...” Emma drew a deep breath and took a step nearer; this time _she_ being the one to shamelessly invade his personal space, tired of waiting. “Are you just gonna stand there and give me more reasons why I should not be here with you right now, or are you gonna take off that coat and give me some of those... _attentions_ you mentioned?”

She had her head slightly tilted down and threw him a look from under her long eyelashes, combined with a breathtakingly suggestive little smile that made him want to kiss it roughly off of her lips. Hook couldn't believe that she actually bit her lower lip a little. He wasn't sure if she‘d done it on purpose, but it was a gesture that immediately made his blood boil even more than it already did. Slowly, he started to feel a little uncomfortable in his tight leather pants. Only once had he seen her act like that: back on the Jolly Roger, dressed as a bar wench, when she‘d seduced the hell out of his drunken past self while he helplessly and furiously looked on – until that crazy moment when knocked out that blatantly shameless bastard that was no one else than himself. This time, this realm, this place nobody was going to interrupt them. No, there was no way he was going to let her leave tonight.

He swallowed a hard lump in his throat before he spoke. His mouth was as dry as gunpowder, and he rolled his tongue through it a few times; still, he thought he would probably not even be able to utter a word, but then suddenly they fell from his lips so easily. “As you wish.”

Emma averted her eyes, suddenly feeling unusually shy in spite of her earlier dash. She remembered when he first said those words to her back in Neverland, and later a second time on his ship, and although on both occasions they‘d thrown her off track for a split second, she‘d been sure back then that it had just been a weird coincidence. He was a three hundred years old pirate, for Heaven's sake, there was no way he could have the slightest idea about a stupid movie from her childhood, about another dashing rapscallion of a pirate dressed in black who used those three words instead of actually saying... something else. Something she couldn't, didn't even dare to think about yet because it was frighteningly powerful and indeed more than she could handle right now. Just set one foot in front of the other.

When she looked away from him, Hook saw that something was going through her mind, and for a moment he was absurdly afraid she might pull back again. But then the moment passed, and her green eyes locked with his once again, and he'd be _damned_ if she wasn't daring him now to live up to his words. _Give me some of those... attentions._ Bloody hell, she was _begging_ for it, and she knew what she was doing. He decided to throw overboard all what was left of his scruples in the light of her obvious, utter conviction and determination. Immediately, he felt his old self-confidence engulf him, and he hooked his thumb in his belt in that nonchalant pose of his. He couldn't help the devilish grin that was creeping over his face as the tip of his wicked tongue slowly moistened his lower lip. Emma noticed both and almost magically her gaze was fixed on his mouth. She could barely suppress a quivery sound escaping her throat; that move of his tongue shot right into the pit of her stomach and then deeper. _Look who's found his dashing rapscallion again,_ she thought.

He tilted his head, and his eyebrow quirked teasingly. “I knew I was right.” Even his voice sounded almost like his nonchalant old self again: a little smug, a little teasing, a little hoarse, and _God help her_ , he even popped the 't' a little. She felt her toes curl.

Emma frowned. “About what?” She thought for a moment that, in fact, he’d been pretty much right about most things he‘d ever said to her, but she had no clue what particular occasion he was referring to right now. But, of course, her mind was clouded right now; her focus was very narrowed, and she could barely concentrate on anything else besides what was right before her, only a few inches away, in the middle of her personal space, right where he belonged: an insanely handsome, hellishly hot, dangerously sexy and unspeakably lovable at the same time pirate. _Her_ pirate.

“I happen to recall in Neverland I told you I would win your heart,” Hook explained with a grin and a little shrug, “and that it wouldn't be because of any trickery, but because you would want me.”

She smiled and closed her eyes for a moment, then she nodded. “Yes, you were right about that,” she confirmed without any hesitation.

“Let me hear it,” he demanded. She knew he was teasing her in his typical, smug way, but she also knew that a part of him really needed to hear it – and he _deserved_ to hear it. This was nothing like his fishing for compliments in Neverland – _Tell me something, love... in these stories, what was I like? Other than a villain? Handsome, I gather?_ No, this was different. He‘d gone to the end of the world for her, even to the end of time, had even crossed the lines between the worlds. He‘d risked his life for her and given up everything that had ever meant anything to him – his quest for revenge and his ship which had been his home – and she‘d hardly ever shown him that she truly appreciated that, or even that she acknowledged it. In fact, she‘d only given him displays of mistrust when they should‘ve been past that for a long time.

She cocked her head a little to the side; an almost girlish gesture that touched something deep inside him. Then she drew a deep breath. _Leap of faith,_ she thought and said: “Killian Jones... Hook.” She still smiled at him; a serious smile without any teasing. “You have won my heart,” she told him solemnly, and she was surprised herself how easily that had come out – it hadn't been difficult at all to admit it to him, to lay her heart on the line like that; not half as difficult as it had been to admit it to herself. He was looking at her expectantly, with wide blue eyes, his lips slightly parted, as if he was waiting for more. She shook her head and added: “And it was not because of any trickery.”

His eyes glittered, his eyebrows shot up, and he pursed his lips lips into that suggestive smile of his. “And...?”

 _That devil!_ There was the pirate again. Emma rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You're gonna make me _say_ it?”

He winked with a wicked gleam in his eyes which seemed to burn right into her soul. “Humour me, love.” It was said lightly, but she noticed again that there was also a secret urge underneath his flirting tone, the faint rest of insecurity and need for confirmation. Emma thought back to all the times she‘d pushed him away... made him understand that she didn't want him. She knew she really hadn't appreciated him very much until recently – or more, she had appreciated him but had been anxious not to show it to him. More than anything, she‘d been taking him and his constant pursuit for granted. Though she was making it pretty obvious now by practically telling him she wanted to stay with him tonight, she knew he deserved to actually _hear_ it.

For a split second, Emma's gaze dropped lower and lingered on his full lips before she looked up into his eyes again without blinking. She smiled. “And... I want you.” His face lit up even more, if possible. She leaned forward, putting both of her hands on his chest, feeling the cool, smooth leather of his vest under her palms, but also feeling the beating of his heart which seemed to be just as frenzied as her own. She brought her lips closely to his right ear and whispered, _“So badly.”_

When she slowly drew back, her cheek caressed his and the sensation of his scruff grazing her skin sent the most delightful shiver down her spine. She felt his jaw tighten and his whole body tense, and she knew he was just barely holding back the volcano underneath the nonchalant surface, on the verge of letting go into something very powerful, overwhelming and promisingly dangerous. She swallowed hard and finally looked into his eyes again. Their faces were so close that their noses were almost touching. She could feel his breath on her face and see the smile dancing in his eyes.

He whispered against her lips in a raucous voice, “About bloody time.”

Emma chuckled softly when she remembered the first time – what seemed like ages ago – Hook had uttered those words to her; not more than an inappropriate and infuriatingly suggestive line then, but so accurate now. She heard the dry rustle of the long folds of his leather coat when he finally shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor without taking his eyes off of hers for a second, and without moving away from her so much as an inch; her hands still rested on his chest. Even if she had wanted to – which she didn't – she simply wouldn't have been able to step away from him now. Not one single step. She was a hopeless goner.

She was mesmerized, hypnotized by the intense look in his eyes that held her prisoner. She'd be damned if she was able to stand on her feet one minute longer, so shaky did her knees feel, so dizzy was her head. Thankfully, she didn't have to, because just when she thought she couldn't trust her legs any longer to hold her upright, she felt more than she saw – because her gaze was still fixed on his face – how he wrapped his left arm tightly around her waist, the hard steel of his hook pressing into her spine, her hip.

Emma wouldn't have imagined that it was possible for her heart to beat any faster, any louder... but it did. When he pulled her body closer to his with a little thrust of his hips – raw, primal – she let out a tiny gasp and spread her fingers like wings, her palms still on his chest. She felt his eyes burning deep down to the bottom of her soul, slowly peeling off her every layer until she was bare before him, even if she was still fully clothed. She was aware of how down her walls truly were – crumbled, in fact, destroyed. And the strangest and best thing about that fact was that she didn't care one bit. She didn't need them any more.

Hook's unblinking gaze was locked with hers now. He held her firmly and raised his hand to her face, his fingers brushing one blonde lock away from her cheek, lingering on her jawbone like feathers while his ringed thumb traced her lower lip achingly slowly. The touch electrified her even more and did funny things to her stomach.

"So, have me," he purred in a voice so deep it hummed low in her belly.


	3. You'll Feell It

_ **Chapter 3:** _

 

_**You'll Feel It** _

 

 

Hook just kept holding her though; he didn't move in any further. He just left it up to _her_ and her _alone_ – again, like he’d already done a few times that evening – to take the next step. She’d once said to Mary Margaret that she wasn't used to someone putting her first, and now she realized that since she’d met this man, he’d been doing little else than just exactly that, _always_. Emma smiled as she leaned forward again, standing a little on the balls of her feet and – after one last glance at his slightly parted, waiting lips – closed her eyes and kissed him again. This kiss was different than the one on Granny's porch; it was more like their Neverland kiss, but this time it felt _real_. Their mouths collided passionately, breathlessly, opening up as soon as they touched. They were swaying back and forth while teeth were grazing lips, tongues exploring each other.

 

Her left arm slid around his trim waist and she moved into him even closer – not getting enough of the nearness – while her right hand crept up to the nape of his neck, messing up his always unruly hair that felt so smooth to the touch. Hook cradled her head in his hand. His fingers combed through those silky, golden locks which had attracted him from that very first day on the beanstalk, and which he’d never been able to resist touching whenever the occasion arose. Unlike before – outside on Granny's porch – he was much more confident now and less afraid to take control. His fingers grasped a thick strand of her hair and pulled her head back a little, pushing his head forward, and Emma followed his demand eagerly, surrendering to him completely now as he claimed her mouth with a fierceness that left her breathless. His hook rested on the small of her back, pulling her soft body into his hard one, and for the first time she felt that he _definitely_ was as ready for her as she was for him. And suddenly, a teasing memory of his voice sounded in her head: _When I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it._

 

Emma's fingers curled in his hair as if they had a will of their own, tugging at it roughly and impatiently. God, how she wanted to _feel it_. Almost abruptly, she broke the kiss, slightly pushing him away. For a moment he was taken aback, but then she looked at him with glittering eyes and brought her hands to the clasps of his leather vest. “I always wanted to know how these work,” she breathed, “it looks so complicated...”With a sly grin, she started to unfasten the ornate metal clasps as if she’d done it a hundred times before, one by one.

 

Hook swallowed hard and commented in a rough voice; “You appear to be quite a natural, love...”

 

Emma laughed softly, her voice smoky and hoarse. “I've heard that before...”

 

When she’d completely undone all the clasps, she tried to pull the vest down over his shoulders, but something was in the way. Hook chuckled softly at her display of impatience and brought both his hand and his hook to his belt, unbuckling it with a few expert moves. It fell to the floor with a loud clanging noise, then he shrugged off the vest and let it fall to the floor, too. As usual, his shirt was more unbuttoned than buttoned, and Emma's hands seemed to have a will of their own as they went up to his chest, sliding into the inviting opening of the garment, running over his warm, bare skin for the first time. It felt better than she’d ever imagined – and she’d secretly imagined _many_ times how that would feel. Emma reveled in the feeling of his abundant chest hair against the soft, delicate skin of her palms, and he automatically arched his back with a sigh, aching for more of her touch.

 

She leaned forward and kissed the side of his throat, tugging with her teeth at the sensitive skin and inhaling his scent. His skin was warm and smooth, and he smelled like heaven and salt and sea and so very manly; it made her even dizzier. Her soft mouth slid further down to his chest while she started to completely unbutton his shirt. Hook entangled his fingers in her hair, threw back his head and groaned. “Emma... you have no idea what you're doing to me...”

 

She looked at him with sparkling green eyes. “Why don't you show me?” With a swift move, she pulled the tight grey sweater over her head and had him gasping at the sight of her bare torso, her breasts only covered by something that seemed to be a very tiny, strange-looking white bodice. He would gladly deal with that later. He had his now unbuttoned shirt still on, but it fell open, and she caught her first glance at how perfectly his dark body hair was spread over his well-toned upper body, trailing down over his flat stomach and his neatly defined abs until it disappeared in the waist of his black leather pants, and – _Holy Mother of God_ – they were held by black leather laces. Unconsciously, her fingers played in the air as she imagined unlacing them. Her gaze was fixed on those cords, mesmerized, and she sucked on her bottom lip while imagining undoing them with her teeth. Almost embarrassed about her own boldness, she averted her eyes.

 

He enjoyed her obvious appreciation for a moment before he stepped back and gripped his hook, making a move to take it off. Emma recognized immediately what he was going to do and stopped him, firmly putting her hand over his. “No, please don't,” she demanded quickly. “I said I want you, and I meant every bit of you. Just the way you are.”

 

He tilted his head a little, almost shaking it slightly. “Emma... I don't want to risk hurting you...”

 

She shook her head firmly, pulled his hand away and caressed the steel of the hook with her other hand – just as she’d already done once before, but of course he wasn't aware of it, because that had been his past self. “I have seen how gentle you can be when you use it,” she told him softly. “I know you're not going to hurt me.”

 

Hook scratched slowly behind his ear, a slightly embarrassed gesture. “Love, I'm afraid I won't be able to... _control_ myself very much.” She looked at him questioningly, and he motioned his hand between them in an all-encompassing move. “This might get a little...” he tilted his head “... _wild_.”

 

Emma drew in a sharp breath at the promising sound of his words. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “But I don't want you to control yourself,” she replied, and he scrutinized her closely, with fascination in his eyes. She blushed but went on firmly. “I want you to... get carried away. Carry _me_ away _._ No bounds. No holds barred.” She saw his eyes blaze with delight, and before she could control herself she added, “You know, there is something weirdly sexy about that hook.”

 

For a few seconds, neither of them made a move, and he swallowed hard. Then, he slowly reached out with his left arm and slid the tip of the hook slowly, carefully into the waistband of her jeans. She could feel the cold steel on her skin and watched with fascination. The sight of his dangerous trademark attachment directly on her bare skin along with the sensation of the cold steel on her lower belly did funny things to her. When she looked up at his face again, she saw that he was looking directly into her eyes with a slight, almost diabolical smile tugging at the corners of his beautiful mouth. Slowly, he pulled her towards him again by the waistband of her jeans, eyeing her like an exquisite catch he had just gaffed with his hook.

 

“Is there, now?” he rasped in a low voice.

 

Emma swallowed, her gaze wandering down from his eyes to linger on his slightly parted sinful lips that were once more moistened by his wicked tongue. Then, her eyes darted up to his again and she saw how he looked at her: an almost dangerous, burning gaze from predator's eyes, ready to strike on his prey, but full of love and tenderness all at the same time. She trusted him completely.

 

“Take me to bed, Killian,” she replied breathlessly.

 

With a sudden move that made her gasp, he swept her up into his arms. His eyes never leaving hers, she had a bout of déjà-vu, thinking of how his past self had picked her up to take her to his ship. But he’d been different then – half-drunk and a little clumsy, making it all too easy for her to play him exactly how she needed. This time, Killian Jones was completely sober and in absolute control of the situation. Automatically, her arms went around his neck.

 

In a rough voice he told her, “Whatever the princess desires, the princess gets.”

 

Just the sound of his voice made all the muscles in her lower belly clench. With three determined steps, he crossed the small room, effortlessly carrying her weight in his strong arms. When he reached the bed, he put her down carefully and sat beside her. His hooked arm was still wrapped around her tightly and his hand was at the back of her head, holding her firmly in place, devouring her mouth with demanding kisses she eagerly returned.

 

Emma tugged at his shirt impatiently, finally managing to lower it down over his shoulders. He released her from his grip long enough to shrug it off and used his hand to slide it over his hook. She drank in the sight of him for a long moment, seeing his bare arms for the first time. His shoulders were broad and firm, and his arms well-toned with a sprinkle of dark hair on his right forearm; the left forearm was covered almost up to the elbow with the rigid black leather sheath of the hook. Emma eyed it curiously; she just _had_ to reach out and touch it.

 

Hook saw her appreciative glance and reveled in it although he knew damn well how gorgeous he was – _devilishly handsome_ , as he never tired to point out. But still, her admiration made him feel like he could walk on water. He lifted his left arm and slowly, _carefully_ , ran his hook from her bare right shoulder down over her front and along the outer side of her breast. He could see her shiver, and much to his further delight, he could clearly see the outline of her peak sharpen and point through the sheer material of her tiny bodice in reaction to his touch. His hand went for the button of her jeans and – as he’d perfected the art of undoing buttons one-handed over the decades – he had it open in the blink of an eye.

 

Emma's green gaze had been following the trail of his hook as if hypnotized, and she felt a burning desire pool between her legs like hot liquid lead. He tugged at her jeans and she lifted her hips from the mattress so he could pull them down and finally off after getting rid of her boots first. He was still wearing his pants, though she felt the urge to do something about that soon. He ran his hook back over her front, slightly grazing it over the erect tip of her breast and causing her to inhale sharply, then let out a quivering sound almost like a sigh.

 

"You're going to have to help me out with this bodice of yours," he rasped, his voice low and rough, "or I'm afraid it will come off in pieces."

 

She reached behind her back to unhook the bra; she was fairly certain that he would be an expert with that soon, too. But she admitted to herself that the thought of her bra coming off in pieces had something very appealing to it, and she was sure something like that would happen in the future.

 

It was Hook's turn now to stare, mesmerized, at the sight of her exposed, nude chest. Her creamy breasts were like he’d always imagined them: not too big and not too small, firm and round, apparently the perfect form and size to fit in his hand. Their pointed peaks were the visible proof of her eager anticipation. Unconsciously, he rubbed his thumb over the tips of his fingers and rolled his tongue through his mouth. "I'll be damned..." he murmured.

 

There was no way he could keep on his pants any longer; the smooth, but at the same time _rigid_ leather was causing him almost physical pain in his most sensitive body area now. His gaze still fixed on Emma's perfectly shaped body, he got up from the bed and hand and hook reached for the leather laces. Suddenly, staring at him with a mix of invitation and adoration, she jumped into action; her hands shot forward, and she grabbed his wrist and the sheath that held his hook.

 

"Don't you dare," she gasped and pushed him away. There was no way she’d miss out on doing that herself. Slowly and lightly, she ran the back of her right hand over the clearly visible shape of him, feeling him come to life under her touch. Hook's sharp intake of breath made a devilish smile curve _her_ lips, so very similar to his own trademark grin, and she repeated the touch before fishing for the leather laces, fumbling to undo them.

 

He was beyond thrilled about her boldness and playfulness and watched her fingers working meticulously, but he _really_ needed to free himself from the leather confines now… _urgently_. "Emma," he warned hoarsely, "you’d better make haste, or else I cannot be held accountable."

 

The more she was fiddling with the lacing, the more anxious she grew. In spite of her determination, her fingertips became slick with sweat from her sudden nervousness. Finally, he had to put his big hand over hers and help her with the task, and together they finally loosened the laces. Emma paused for a moment and looked up at him, suddenly frightened by her own courage. He nodded with an encouraging smile that was so slight that it barely reached the corners of his mouth and was mostly visible in his eyes. "Go ahead, Swan," he prompted, softly and playfully daring her at the same time.

 

She drew a deep breath and gave the black leather a firm tug. Given how tight they were, the pants came down surprisingly easily, almost falling off his slender hips. Both of them gasped audibly when he was finally free and sprung into her waiting hands. For a moment, she just held him and looked up at him again, marveling at the combination of the hot, silky smoothness of his skin and the steely rigidity that lay underneath: a mix that made all her senses reel and tingle.

 

When her fingers started to wander lightly over his feverish flesh, causing him to twitch in her hands, he quickly put his hand over hers again to stop her. Her eyes darted up to his, and she saw little beads of perspiration appear on his forehead. He shook his head in a barely perceptible move. "Not the right moment," he managed in a very breathless voice, and she understood and released him immediately, even if reluctantly.

 

He kicked off his pants along with his boots and sat again beside her on the bed. His hand immediately returned to the back of her neck, fingers entangling in her hair, and he claimed her mouth for more deep kisses that made her head spin, literally pillaging her. Emma had difficulties holding herself upright in her half-sitting position, the overload of desire causing her body to sway. Feeling her reaction, Hook let his mouth wander in a fiery path from her lips along her jaw line, using his scruff to graze the side of her throat and drive her nearly insane. When he reached the curve of her jaw, his wanton tongue darted out and licked over her earlobe before he purred, “Lay back, lass.”

 

With a sigh, Emma let herself sink back onto the pillow. He tilted his head and smiled down at her before he slid to the foot of the bed and slowly traced the cool metal of his hook down over her stomach, then achingly slowly over her pubic mound, still covered by her lace-trimmed white panties. Moaning softly, Emma curved her back and arched her hips upwards in an instinctive move; she felt all her juices flow abundantly.

 

“I like the knickers in this realm,” he commented in a raucous voice thick with arousal. Chuckling devilishly he teased; “White and innocent, and yet so sinful.”

 

Emma was breathing heavily by now, her hands clasping the sheet. “Hook...” she panted, and it was almost a plea.

 

She felt more than she saw – because her vision was fogged somehow – that he used his hook very carefully to pull her panties down over her legs, leaving her completely naked and exposed to his intense, blue scrutiny. When he saw her there before him, bare of the last barrier, he was nothing less than filled with awe – about her beauty, her openness and her courage. He knew he was just about to witness Emma Swan's final leap of faith, and that leap carried her right into his arms.

 

“Emma Swan, I swear by God you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my long life,” he told her, voice thick with raw honesty. “Every inch of you deserves to be thoroughly worshipped and _will_ be...” he swallowed and went on in an almost apologetic tone: “...but right now, I just have to have you.”

 

She smiled and reached out for him with both arms. “Then take me already,” she replied in a crystal clear voice. “I'm yours.”

 

Hook knelt between her legs, nudging them open a little, and grabbed her left knee with his hand. Catching her other knee with his hook, he pulled her towards him in a quick, almost brusque move that made her gasp. He covered her body with his and said almost solemnly, “You are now.”

 

For a moment, he lingered at her entrance, grazing his tip over her waiting core, rejoicing in the delightfully obvious proof of how ready she was for him. His eyes locked with hers and, studying her closely, he entered her deliberately slowly, watching those jade eyes he adored grow darker, and her lips curve into an almost unbelieving, ecstatic smile as she felt him fill her so neatly and completely. Then, _finally,_ he buried himself inside her with one single push of his hips, causing her to let out a little cry. Hearing her, he held back and looked at her with a question in his eyes, but Emma wrapped her arms only closer around his body and opened her eyes wide. “Move now,” she panted, “please.”

 

He happily obliged and allowed himself to finally let go of his passion completely, not holding back any longer; he knew he didn't have to. He wasn't surprised at all to find that their bodies matched perfectly, like they were made for each other – which he believed they actually were. They found their rhythm together easily with his very first thrust as if they’d been doing this breathless dance together for years. They moved in perfect, beautiful sync, faster and faster, as their long pent-up passion carried them away, until neither of them could think anymore.

 

They were sighing, moaning, panting each other's name, along with those meaningless sounds lovers make during their wildest, most uninhibited moments. Emma felt like she’d gone to heaven, finally unburdened and free. If she hadn't been aware of the weight of Hook's body pressing her into the mattress and holding her in place like a safe anchor, she would’ve thought she was flying; a sensation that normally would’ve scared her, but here, with him, there was nothing anymore that could scare her because she knew she was finally safe and home. She felt a tingling start at her toes and wrapped her legs tighter around his hips, craving more closeness, _more_... not getting enough of him, not now, not _ever_.

 

Emma's eyes were closed. Head thrown back onto the pillow and lips slightly parted, she murmured words only she understood, completely lost in their passion. Hook paused for a moment inside her to bend his head down and shower the side of her throat with burning kisses, grazing her sensitive skin with his teeth and his scruff. She moaned and arched her body even more into his, partly because her neck was obviously one big erogenous zone, partly because she was almost desperately urging him to continue; he could tell that from the way she wrapped her thighs so tightly around his hips and lifted hers upwards impatiently. He smiled against her feverish skin and started to move again, and when her nails dug into his back and her sighs became louder and more urgent, pleading almost, he knew she was close, so very close. He increased his pace and force and could feel by the way her whole body was tensing and her core was starting to clench around him that she was about to fall apart.

 

He scrutinized her closely with intense, incredulous eyes full of wonder. She’d never looked more beautiful to him than in this moment of complete and utter vulnerability and devotion, letting go of everything that had ever held her back from being her true self and being happy. All her walls were down, her heart and her soul laid bare to him just as her body was. He wanted nothing more than to spill out his heart to her and tell her how much he loved her, but then he held the words back. Emma Swan might need time before she would be able to handle _that_.

 

Instead, he just softly urged, “Emma... look at me...”

 

She opened her eyes and gasped incoherently, “Killian... I... I can't...” _Hold back,_ he knew she meant.

 

“Don't,” he replied breathlessly. “Let go for me... don't be afraid... I’ve got you.”

 

She smiled her angelic smile he loved so much then let herself fall completely and utterly, and he caught her, just like he promised. He had enough time to hold her close to him until her shuddering slowly subsided before he allowed himself to lose control and finally find his own long-desired release inside the woman he’d loved for quite awhile, calling out her name.

 

For a long moment, neither was able to move; they just lay still, eyes closed at first, with him still inside her and his forehead resting on hers. They listened to their slowly decelerating heartbeats and the softening of their heavy breathing. Finally, Emma opened her eyes again just to find his right before her, watching her come back down to earth. Hook smiled his lopsided smile and was happy to see the radiant expression on her face. If he’d been afraid in the slightest that there was a chance she might regret what had happened, the look on her face was all he needed to sweep all worries away. He gently pushed a lock of hair away from her face and waited for her to speak.

 

She moistened her lips, somewhat surprised at how incredibly dry they were. Her head was still dizzy and her body still hummed all over from the sensual explosion she’d just experienced. Still a little breathless, she started speaking; “That was...” but her voice trailed off. She had no words, and he saw how she literally couldn't handle it yet.

 

“You’d better _not_ tell me it was a one-time thing,” he teased, and that helped her regain her ability to form coherent thoughts because that teasing felt so much like home.

 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” she replied with a smile.

 

Hook nodded. “Good. Because this time I'm not letting you get away.” He gently slid out of her and to her right side, propped up on his left elbow with his hook resting on the pillow beside her head. His last statement had obviously pleased her – her smile told him that – and once more he was amazed at how at ease she seemed with their new found intimacy. This woman obviously regretted nothing. He started lazily painting patterns between her breasts with his fingertips. “But where are my manners,” he went on almost casually. “I interrupted you, love.” Emma frowned up at him questioningly, and he smirked. “That _was_...?” he prodded with a raised eyebrow.

 

Emma rolled her eyes, refusing to feed into his ego. Smirking, he offered: “Earth-shattering? Like a tempest? Heavenly?” He waved his hand invitingly. “Don’t hold back, love.”

 

She shook her head and grinned at him. “I'm glad to see you're still the same pretentious loudmouth as ever, pirate,” she replied dryly.

 

As a response, the circles he was drawing on her chest grew larger and he let his index finger trail around her right breast. _That bastard!_ He noticed with delight that she started to shiver under his touch. “Look me in the eyes, Swan, and tell me it's not true,” he challenged.

 

She didn't find the energy to slap his hand away. “There's no need to brag, Hook,” she told him. “It's not like you didn't lose your composure yourself...”

 

He chuckled. “Aye, but I recover fast...”

 

Emma propped herself up on her right elbow, their fronts now facing each other as his hand easily slid to rest on her back. Her eyes darted to his mid-section and she saw what he meant by _recover_. Still not used to that kind of intimacy – but she would get there soon – she blushed a little and looked away with an almost coy little smile that threatened to blow his already rebooting fuses completely.

 

"Why am I not surprised?" she murmured.

 

He snorted out a self-satisfied little laugh. "Because you know me almost as well as I know you, Swan," he replied with his trademark grin.

 

She raised her eyebrows. "Almost?" she echoed.

 

"I might still have a few..." – he paused to roll his tongue through his mouth more than suggestively and tilted his head – "... _surprises_ for you."

 

Emma smiled and shook her head at him. There he was, the pirate captain, humble and decent as always. God, how he’d driven her crazy in the beginning, and _God_ , how he was still driving her crazy now, but in the best, the irresistible way. She knew he was _exactly_ the way she wanted him. Ignoring his smug grin, she moved closer to him and snuggled into his chest – much to his delight – and wrapped her left arm around his waist. "Did you ever doubt we would end up like this?" she asked and tilted her head back to look at him.

 

"Like what?" he teased with glittering eyes. "Dirty, sore and worn out? And how is that new?"

 

She chuckled and slapped his muscular back. "You know what I mean, Hook."

 

"Oh, that..." He let his fingers run up and down her spine, causing her to shiver and squirm against him. "Did I doubt it?" He swayed his head from one side to the other, pretending to contemplate her question, then he smiled one of his precious, sincere little smiles at her that always allowed her a glimpse of the true Killian Jones beneath the scoundrel attire. "Every day," he replied honestly and let one of her locks run through his fingers, "but then...” – he pursed his lips and shook his head – “... _never_."

 

She smiled and nodded at his statement. It sounded absurd but was also so very accurate. "You must be the most persistent man I’ve ever met."

 

His eyebrows twitched as he cocked his head. "Well, I had long enough of a lifetime to develop that particular quality... among others," he added with a wicked grin and pulled her a little closer, just enough for her to notice which _other_ quality he was referring to... as if she needed reminding.

 

"We'll see about that," she teased back and suddenly brought her left hand to his shoulder and gave him a firm push. With a surprised gasp, he slumped down on his back. Her lips quirked into a pleased smile and she swung her left leg over Hook's body, trapping him.

 

“And exactly what do you think you're doing, Swan?” he asked, although the way she was slowly moving her thigh over his groin gave him an inkling of her intentions. He was more than thrilled about her playfulness and barely managed to keep a nonchalant face. With a swift move, she swung her lean body over to lie on top of him, her face only inches before his. Her hair fell down around their faces like a golden curtain and she grinned, immensely enjoying the power she held over him in this position. She could clearly read on his face how much he was at her mercy right now… how much he knew it, too.

 

With the devil in her eyes she leaned closer and whispered in his ear; “Lay back and you'll see what enjoyable activities _I_ can do with a _man_ on his back...”

 

Hook's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, an almost incredulous grin splitting his face. Hearing Emma throw back his own naughty line at him was bloody amazing; that she hadn’t forgotten it even more so. She positioned herself right above him. Then, with a light guiding touch of her hand, she guided him into her once more. He glided into her slickness easily; he wasn’t the only one ready for a reprise.

 

Emma started to move slowly, rotating her hips like a belly dancer in slow motion. She was thrilled beyond delight to see her dreaded pirate literally lose it. As soon as he picked up her rhythm, he ran his hand up her thigh and let it wander further up until he cupped her left breast, squeezing it ever-so-lightly.

 

“You are a true siren, Swan,” he told her hoarsely, breathlessly, and ran his ringed thumb over the erect peak. She arched her spine and threw back her head, resting her weight on his strong thighs and completely lost in her lap-dance love play. Her eyes were closed and her long curls cascaded down until they covered her hands, gripping the taut muscles of his legs. When he felt her need and her moves intensify and grow quicker, he put his hand and hook to her hips and held her firmly, going with her increasing rhythm of rising and falling, pushing firmly upwards when her body fell down on his. After a few well-placed thrusts he felt her shatter and crumble around and on top of him and reached for her waist with his hook and his hand, carefully pulling her off of him before she even had the chance to come back to her senses again.

 

For a moment, she blinked with slight confusion, still hearing the blood rush in her ears. He rose to his knees surprisingly quickly, kneeling behind her, and wrapped his right arm tightly around her waist to steady her. He kissed the back of her neck and brought his hot lips to her ear.

 

“Very impressive, Swan,” he murmured in a deep voice and let the sharp tip of his hook graze over her ribcage – the steel had adopted the warm temperature of her body now, and the sensation proved to be beyond description. He pulled her back closely to his front and rasped into her ear, “But I'm not done with you yet...”

 

He ushered her a little forward towards the wall, and Emma gasped when she understood what he was doing. Still in a state of dizziness, she followed his lead, bent a little forward and put her hands on the headboard. He smoothed out her hair and let his hand run down over her spine, followed by kisses on her feverish skin. “That's a good girl,” he purred in a low voice. “Hold on tight, lass...”

 

Placing his hand and hook on her hips again, he positioned himself behind her and nudged her legs a little more open with his knees. Right as he entered her again – and her ability to form coherent thoughts faded from existence once more – she remembered a line she’d probably read on some stupid bumper sticker: “A good man breaks your headboard, not your heart.” Now this was not _her_ headboard, and it wasn't really breaking, but from the rattling sounds it made it looked like it was pretty close to falling to pieces, just like she was – _again_.

 

Emma's head was spinning, and so was Hook's, and he was almost relieved to feel that the tension inside her was building up again fast because he surely wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. His pace and forcefulness became frantic, and when he felt that they’d both reached the point of no return, he simply stopped moving, bent down over her and reached around her mid with his right arm, pulling her into an upright position with him with her back pressed closely to his front. His hand slid up over her sweat-covered body and came to lay between her breasts, his ringed fingers spread widely, feeling her heart hammering madly against her sternum as though he held it right in his palm.

 

“Killian...” she sighed almost tonelessly.

 

“Emma...” he breathed into her ear, “together, my love...”

 

With that, she let her head fall back to rest on his shoulder, her cheek against his and her arms clutching his forearm as she pressed his palm to her heart. No more nearness was possible now – not physical and not emotional. Neither of them moved; they just swayed a little when they let the wave of their shared climax wash over them like a flood and carry them away into oblivion.

 

Completely exhausted, they fell back on the mattress and for a few moments just lay there, trying to get back to their senses again. Hook was the first to regain the ability to move, while Emma's breath still hadn't slowed down enough. She lay there, blissfully sated, listening to the blood rushing in her ears. Hook pulled the sheets over them both to cover their still entangled bodies before the sweat on their skin could dry and turn tingles of pleasure into genuine shivers. He was leaning again on his left elbow, the hook resting on the pillow above her head. _Time for you to take a leap of faith yourself, mate,_ he thought; _she is your tough lass, she can handle it._ He tucked her in like a child and threw her his heart-stopping grin, and she half expected some mocking, smug remark. This was so unfair, because she knew she wasn't in shape for an adapt reply yet.

 

But instead, he just studied her still flushed face as if he wanted to ingrain every feature of hers forever in his memory. Then, tilting his head to look upon her, he simply said, “I love you, Emma Swan.” _Deal with it._

 

With wide green eyes she gaped at him, still too overwhelmed to speak. What had just happened had been an amazing act of scorching passion – well more than _one,_ to be specific – but also so much more than just a physical union. It had been the final, secretly long-desired and much needed ultimate connection of two soul mates, nothing less. _Lovers_. With a clarity that was so crystal sharp that it almost hurt, Emma Swan realized there and then that she was looking up into the mesmerizing eyes of her One True Love, and yes, she almost couldn't handle it. _Almost._ No, she wasn't going to shy back from it… she was done with that. By now, she was completely open and finally ready to _embrace_ it; but right now it was just overwhelming and it choked her. She opened her mouth and tried to say it. She wanted, maybe _needed_ to say it, helplessly struggling with the words that were so clear in her mind but so hard to let out.

 

Hook just smiled down at her and wiped a tiny droplet of sweat from her forehead, smoothed out her still damp hair and said, “'S alright, love. Sleep now.” Damn him, he _knew_. _Open book._ Emma felt hot tears sting in the corners of her eyes, but he wasn't going to let her cry. He was going to make it easy for her, of course, as usual. He kissed her on the top of her head and added in his mocking tone; “That's an order from your Captain, Swan. And we both know you like taking them.”

 

She kept staring at him with an incredulous look, but he just stretched his long body out beside hers and reached for the light switch on the night stand and the room plunged into darkness. Emma slipped into his embrace immediately, draping her left arm over his chest and her leg over his, capturing him like an octopus and wanting to make sure he stayed right where he was. But she knew he wouldn't be going anywhere. They were both home. She nestled her head in the nook between his jaw and his shoulder where it fit so neatly like it belonged there, and within two minutes, she was asleep… the echo of three little words still floating in her ears.


	4. There's Only One Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, obviously I posted chapter 5 as chapter 4 and left that one completely out... so, here, the missing chapter 4 I owe you...

__

_ _ **Chapter 4:** _ _

__

_ _**There's Only One Rule** _ _

__

Like every morning, Hook woke up at seven come hell or high water. The moment he opened his eyes and came to his senses, a huge silly grin split his face when he felt Emma's hand draped on his bare stomach. Her head was resting on his chest, her silky locks tickling the side of his neck. This wasn't a dream or a hallucination, it was real. She was his, and he was really and truly and irrevocably hers; the past twenty-four hours had changed his life forever.

 

Carefully, _very_ carefully he slipped out from underneath her. She stirred lightly in her sleep, snuggling into the pillow and wrapping her arm around it as if seeking his warmth. Totally mesmerized, he watched her calm breathing and took his time to let his gaze sweep over her sleeping figure. She looked completely relaxed with slightly parted lips that were curved into the tiniest of smiles. He loved the thought that he’d helped put it there. _Never thought I'd see one of those._ An equally slight smile was shining on his own features as he carefully smoothed her hair out of her face; it had fallen over her rosy cheeks. When he stroked it back, his eyes fell on a faint rash at the side of her neck where his scruff had obviously grazed her delicate skin once too often, and he gently touched it with two fingers.

 

“Sorry, love,” he murmured, and she sighed in her sleep. Determined to let her rest, he left the bed and pulled the sheets over her shoulders before heading into the bathroom.

 

A little while later, Emma gently slipped from dreaming into consciousness, her eyes still closed and a contented smile gracing her lips. Hook's hoarse voice still echoed in her thoughts: _I love you, Emma,_ only, she was pretty certain it hadn’t been a dream. She murmured his name and reached across the soft sheets, freezing when her hand met a cool pillow instead of him. Her eyes flew open, any sleepiness vanishing in an instant. Bolting upright, she cried, “Hook?”

 

But the bed was empty and so was the room. Out of nowhere, an irrational panic gripped her – this was like an awful kind of déjà-vû, and the well-known, dreaded feeling of having been left _alone_ after having hoped she finally was _not_ any longer clenched her chest almost painfully. Her eyes darted around the room, however, and she saw his leather coat lying in a crumpled heap on the floor where he’d carelessly let it fall the night before. He wouldn't go anywhere without his coat, would he?

 

Emma hastily swung her long legs out of the bed and got up, wrapping the sheet around her and scanning the floor with expert eyes. The rest of his clothes were there, too, and she laughed nervously at herself and shook her head. That had been really stupid.

 

She quickly went around the bed and threw the door to the bathroom open, and there he was, standing in front of the small mirror above the sink with his back to her. He was naked, his wet hair sticking out in every direction and naught but a distractingly small towel slung carelessly around his hips; drops of water still clung to his muscular back. "You're here!" she exclaimed.

 

Hook had been “shaving” with a huge knife she’d never before seen on him; well, he was not _really_ shaving, just scraping a bit at his scruff to keep it in form. At the loud _bang_ of the door he jumped in shock and cut himself at the side of his throat; blood trickled out immediately.

 

"Bloody hell, Swan!” he huffed. “Has no one ever taught you that it's bad form to scare a man who has a _blade_ at someone's throat, especially so if it's his own?!" He put the knife down, touched the cut with his fingers, then turned around to her and frowned. "Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?!" He looked at his index finger then put it in his mouth to suck at the blood.

 

Although she didn't want to admit it, the earlier shock of finding the bed beside her empty was still reverberating in her head, and her absurd relief to see he was still there, added on top. Without thinking she blurted out, "Gone?"

 

" _What?!_ " he snapped. Emma blinked once, twice when she realized what she’d just said. She mentally slapped the back of her head. Of course Hook realized what had been going through her head and he felt an involuntary pang of anger at her suspiciousness; his hand sank down, his eyebrows shot up, and he growled: "Really, Swan?"

 

She raised one hand in an apologetic gesture, realizing with a pang of pain in her own heart that she’d hurt him probably more than ever before, albeit unintentionally – she knew he of all people would not go anywhere. He’d never left her side since he’d decided to become her ever-present shadow. "Forget what I said. I'm still half-asleep," she urged and waved her hand in front of her face to indicate her confusion. “I'm still kind of...” Without waiting for her to finish, Hook turned away from her and grabbed a towel to dab at his cut, not saying a word and not looking at her. In the mirror she could see that his jaw clenched, the only thing that indicated his anger. Incredibly annoyed with herself, Emma took a step nearer. "I'm sorry," she said simply and clearly.

 

He turned around slowly and looked at her with piercing eyes, their blue as deep as the sea. "You should be,” he replied quietly; his voice wasn't loud, but she could nevertheless hear how upset he was by the way his accent shone through more than usual – when he said _"be"_ it sounded like _"bay"_. Then he turned to the sink again and opened the water faucet to wet the towel.

 

 _You screwed that up fine,_ Emma thought ruefully to herself. Carefully, she stepped closer until she was standing right behind him and tentatively wrapped her left arm around Hook's waist. Her fingers brushed lightly over his stomach as if she were afraid he might back off, or worse, push her away. But of course he did nothing of the sort. She rested her cheek against his scarred right shoulder blade and said quietly; "I don't know how that feels... to have others putting me first.” She drew a deep breath and added; “People not leaving me." She shrugged. “It's not easy getting used to it.”

 

Hook threw the towel in the sink and turned around again so that her arm slipped onto his back. Emma had to tilt her head a little to look up at him. His eyes were still fierce, but the earlier anger had left them and was replaced by something else: a wild determination. He angled his head. "Well, I'll just have to help you get used to it," he told her firmly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

 

His anger evaporated as quickly as it welled up; in fact, he felt nothing but regret and compassion for his Swan – tough as his lass was, she had been nothing but a lost girl for such a long time that indeed she would have to get used to being loved, wanted and cherished. He made a secret vow that he would teach her how that felt, even if it took him the next three hundred years.

 

Emma saw the change in his demeanor and for a moment, she closed her eyes in relief. Like always, he understood what haunted her and offered to have her back. _Putting her first._ He had done that before as her friend, and now, as her lover he would move heaven and earth to make her happy. She tried an apologetic little smile; she would have to get used to that, too. "Forgive me?"

 

But to her surprise, he took a step back, out of her embracing arm. _"Go away."_

 

She frowned in confusion. "But..."

 

Hook abruptly turned his back on her again, and then suddenly, in the mirror, she was thrilled to see his wicked grin emerge. He motioned his head to the shower stall. "You need a bath, filthy girl."

 

After a moment of surprise, Emma grinned, too. “Well, too bad...”

 

He turned his eyes to her in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

 

She shrugged. “That you're already clean. You could have...” – she looked him up and down in a deliberately lewd way, giving a perfect imitation of himself – “...joined me.” She unwrapped the sheet from her body, dropped it to the floor then sauntered over to the shower stall while making sure she had that extra sway in her hips. Two could play this game.

 

Hook rolled his tongue over the inside of his bottom lip and murmured, “That can be arranged...”

 

His towel also fell to the floor without further preliminaries, and he slipped into the shower right after she turned the water on. She had just enough time to turn around and face him in eager anticipation before he grabbed her around the waist in a swift move and backed her against the wall of the shower stall. Automatically and with a little gasp, she held on to his shoulders and enjoyed the feeling of being trapped between the cold tiles and his hard body that seemed to emanate a feverish heat. His lips were almost touching hers, and his eyes had that devilish spark again while he ran his hand from her waist over her backside where he let it rest, his left arm still wrapped around her and holding her firmly in place.

 

“So, you lured me in here, Milady,” he murmured against her mouth in his damnable _pirate_ voice, “now tell me, what shall I do with you?”

 

Her back arched almost with a will of its own, pressing her body even closer into his. Every nerve in her body seemed to thrum with desire already. “Whatever you please, Captain,” she replied breathlessly.

 

Hook smirked. “That's a good girl.”

 

He pressed his lips to hers and her arms slid around his neck, pulling him in even closer, entangling her fingers in his hair. Emma's legs seemed to be turning to rubber, a sensation that was becoming familiar to her while in his presence, and she got completely lost in their kiss again, reveling in the feeling of his mouth on hers. His lips and tongue were doing things to her that she only had got a faint inkling about back in Neverland; but now… _now_ she knew that kissing him was like a drug, like tasting a forbidden fruit: the more she got, the more she wanted it, craved it, _needed_ it. Just when she thought she would never be able to breathe again, his lips left hers, and he kissed and nibbled a fiery path from her mouth over her jawbone and down her throat. A deep sigh escaped her, and she felt him chuckle against her skin.

 

His left arm moved a little up her back, and suddenly she felt strange, new sensation. Only now did she realize what was missing: his hook was off; she hadn't even noticed that before. Somehow, he’d sensed the subtle change in her posture and lifted his head, looking up at her with a question in his eyes. “What is it, love?”

 

Emma disentangled her right hand from his hair and ran it down his left arm, pulling it out from behind her. He saw what she was doing and lessened a bit the pressure of his body against hers to give her room and to show her that he was okay with it. She lifted his arm gently in careful perusal. She was surprised at how neat and smooth the surface of the little curve where his left arm ended actually looked. She’d expected more scar tissue. _The bite of the crocodile has been very neat_ , she thought with a touch of anger and also sadness.

 

Hook was a little anxious about her reaction – about her seeing his physical flaw for the first time – but he tried to play it nonchalantly in order to keep any possible awkwardness away. “I'm damaged goods,” he commented dryly.

 

“Who isn't?” she replied firmly and ran her fingertips ever-so-lightly, almost tenderly over the curve of his stump. “Wearing the hook... does it hurt?” she wanted to know.

 

He was relieved, even happy to see that she obviously didn't have any qualms addressing that particular subject; obviously, she found it quite natural and not awkward at all. But then, that shouldn't really have surprised him. He held still and allowed her to touch it, carefully explore it, tenderly caress it while the warm water was raining down on them. “No,” he replied, “not anymore. The hook has been a part of me for almost longer than I can remember.” He shrugged. “I feel sort of incomplete without it.”

 

Emma ran her fingertips from his missing wrist to his elbow and back again, her touch as light as a feather. “You hardly ever take it off, don’t you?”

 

“When I sleep, I mostly do.” He tilted his head. “When there's no impending danger that might require immediate attention, that is.”

 

She couldn't get enough of his answers, happy that he was willing to share this very personal part with her. She wanted to get to know him, everything about him, like she knew herself. _Better_ than she knew herself. Yes, by now she knew him almost as well as he knew her, but she also knew there were still blank spots on his black vest; things that had hurt him, angered him, changed him – made him the man he was today, the man she loved. “Do you ever miss your hand?” she asked.

 

He looked down at his stump and then nodded thoughtfully. “Last night I did,” he told her and ran his good hand from where it still rested on her hip over her side, her stomach and up between her breasts. She looked down at his hand that lingered over her heart now for a moment before it made its way up to her neck, cupping the left side of her throat and gently caressing her jaw with his thumb. She leaned into his palm and looked in his incredible eyes, waiting for him to continue. “Had I had both my hands,” he went on in a slightly croaky voice sprinkled with regret, “I could have felt you more...” he tilted his head, “...made you feel more.”

 

Emma smiled and shook her head. “Believe me; you couldn't possibly have made me feel any more. It was perfect.” She put both her hands to his face and leaned a little forward to make sure she had his full attention. “ _You_ were perfect.” She knew she’d chosen the right words when she saw his expression change from one melancholy into delight again as he nodded slowly. She noticed the glint of mischief dancing in his eyes and closed hers with a playful sigh. “And something makes me think I'm gonna regret what I just said.”

 

She felt him shift, his hand still at her throat, and when she opened her eyes again, his face was only inches apart from hers. He smirked, brought his lips to her ear and purred; “If you're seriously telling me I can't make you feel any more, love, consider it...” he looked her deep in the eyes and breathed against her lips, “... _done_.” She shivered at his promise, and he added with a devilish grin: “Told you I love a challenge.”

 

And with that, he pressed his body into hers again and lowered his lips onto hers, exploring, devouring, thoroughly taking possession of her mouth again, his tongue so fierce and gentle at the same time that her head started to spin; a familiar sensation by now. Slowly, his hand wandered down from her throat, glided over her breast and her side – her now completely wet body – and followed the curve of her hip. Emma sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kisses with an equal amount of fire. She was surprised for a moment to feel him lessen the pressure of his body onto hers a bit, but then his purpose became clear when she felt his hand slide from her hip between their bodies, easily finding its destination, tenderly, teasingly stroking over her pubic mound, cupping it with his palm.

 

She shivered under his touch and automatically pushed her hips forward and parted her thighs in invitation and to intensify the contact. She moaned against his lips when his fingers started to move and flutter, playing over and inside her once more aching core like he was playing a fine instrument – teasing, exploring, _conquering_. Suddenly, he broke the contact of their mouths and left her breathless and confused; Emma opened her eyes to look at him questioningly, almost with a complaint about him breaking their kiss. Hook was scrutinizing her with adoration, but at the same time the devil was lurking in the corners of his eyes when he lifted his hand between their faces and slowly put his index finger into his mouth, sucking it deliberately, wantonly, never taking his intense gaze off her. She stared at him with an open mouthed expression, the shameless sensuality of his gesture simply taking her breath away.

 

“You taste like honey, love,” he purred and winked at her. “Worshipping time now.”

 

He brought his mouth once more to the side of her throat, directly over that spot where her jugular vein was visibly twitching in the rhythm of her madly throbbing pulse. He tugged at the sensitive skin with his teeth, making her draw in a sharp breath, and sucked just hard enough to make it sting deliciously but not leave a mark. Then he slowly glided down along the length of her body, kissing and nibbling his way over her collarbone and down her chest, taking a little detour to linger over her left breast just long enough to coax a tender sigh from her throat before he continued his sensual journey downward and finally sank to his knees.

 

He took his time, lazily placing soft kisses down her stomach, the sensation of his scruff grazing the highly sensitive skin right above her pubic bone and making her writhe. He slid his hand up her side, fingers widely spread, resting it firmly on her ribcage right beneath her left breast. Holding her in place, he murmured: "Stay still, love."

 

Emma tried her best, but it was impossible to remain immobile under his skilled ministrations. By then he was done with the teasing and headed to his destination without further delay. She looked down at him with wide eyes and tried to brace herself for the ultimate assault on her already tingling nerve endings, not really knowing what to expect when he lowered his mouth onto her center. Although she saw it coming and although she had experienced that kind of intimate touch before – even if she’d never been a huge fan of it – _nothing_ could ever have prepared her for this. What Hook's tongue and lips did to her evoked feelings so intense it almost blew her mind. She felt the urge to sink down on her knees – so shaky were her legs – and the burning, tingling sensation sent shock waves from her core into every nerve ending, even making her toes curl.

 

Yes, she had engaged in that kind of activity before, but if she was honest, part of her had always felt a little uncomfortable with it because it meant literally opening up to her very core, almost turning her inside out, and she felt at her most vulnerable in those moments. Here, with Hook, she felt nothing of the sort; all she felt was pure bliss and the utter, flooring certainty that she was safe with him. Not to mention the red hot, blatant explosion of sheer lust that had her nearly faint the second his devil tongue touched her most sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

How had she never felt any of this before? she wondered; but then, the answer was really obvious, and she heard once more his voice in her head: _There's only one rule: pick a partner who knows what he's doing._ And, _God help her_ , that man _definitely_ knew what he was doing.

 

The warm water rained down on him, pouring over his back and streaming over his face. He wasn't paying attention to it or maybe it just wasn't bothering him while he indeed _worshipped_ her; there simply wasn’t another word for what he was going to her. Emma placed her right hand on his inclined head, grabbing a fistful of his raven hair – it lacked its usual auburn highlights, soaked as it was. His hand cupped her left breast, evoking more pleasure, and when she quickly glanced down at it she noticed that for the first time since she knew him, his hand was bare of his trademark rings. But then her vision was fogged by the irresistible urge to close her eyes and throw her head back, eliminating all her other senses and letting herself be overwhelmed by the ecstasy vibrating through her whole body.

 

When she felt the tingling running down her spine and up her legs, all rays of pleasure meeting and concentrating in the center of her being, she knew there was no use in trying to hold anything back. For once, she let herself completely fall apart, her limbs trembling, her moans echoing from the walls of the shower stall and she didn’t give a damn who might hear them.

 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still; no sound was to be heard expect for the constant murmuring of the water and the rushing of the blood in her ears. When she finally mustered enough energy to open her eyes again, she found that Hook's face was once more directly before hers, merely inches apart. He’d risen to his feet and was studying her face intently, obviously pleased by what he saw there. The fine lines around his incredible sea blue eyes crinkled and his right eyebrow rose the tiniest bit.

 

"You were right, love," he finally said in that dark, rich timbre of his voice that spoke directly to Emma's baser nature.

 

"About what?" she panted, still breathing heavily.

 

He cocked his head, looked at her from beneath his decadent lashes, and his full lips twitched into a barely perceptible, yet unspeakably sinful smirk, followed by a deliberate, thorough stroke of his profligate tongue over his bottom lip. " _This_ task indeed didn't require the vantage of having a second hand," he purred in a deeply satisfied tone.

 

His words from earlier reverberated in her head: _Consider it... done._ Damn, he had lived up to yet another promise. Before she could reply, he leaned in and kissed her deeply, and she tasted herself on his lips; now this was a sensation she’d never experienced before, and she couldn't believe how highly erotic she found it.

 

When their lips parted again, Emma couldn't help but grin widely at him. “Told you so,” she replied playfully and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close and demanding another kiss which he freely and eagerly granted. Quickly, their kissing intensified again; her hands combed through his hair as her teeth tugged at his lower lip. Hook’s right arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her close into his hard body while his left elbow and remaining forearm rested against the wall, steadying them.

 

In spite of just having experienced an incredibly intense climax, Emma craved the ultimate connection again, needing to feel him inside her. She rolled her hips against his, trying to bring her core in contact with his hardness and wordlessly urging him to take possession of her. Sensing her urgency with delight, Hook lifted her left thigh with a firm grip at her knee and wrapped it around his hips, thrusting into her without further preliminaries. She gasped in a deep breath and ran her hands down his back, cupping his muscular backside and pulling him closer, pushing him even deeper inside. Hook felt that her hunger went far beyond being only a physical one and was only too willing to follow her demands.

 

Weirdly enough, Emma didn't feel the need to close her eyes this time. She needed to be connected to him on every level; their stares locked, and while they were moving steadily together, they never turned their gaze from one another, drowning in their shared passion and intense emotions. Hook's lips were slightly parted and their corners curved into an almost unbelieving, adoring smile which mirrored Emma's. The happiness emanating from them was nearly palpable in the steamy air.

 

 _I love you,_ she thought, _Oh God, I love you._ And she saw again in his eyes what she’d seen the night before when he’d uttered those three words to her and she’d been too choked up to reply, even though she’d desperately wanted to. _He knew._ He had to know. And again, he was far from demanding anything from her. That realization made her feel so free and safe like she’d never felt before.

 

Hook leaned his forehead to hers, their eyes still locked, and they both found their release – once again together. Neither of them uttered a word or a sound. They could see the exact same moment shining in each other's eyes, a connection of souls, and it was the most intimate moment either of them had ever experienced.

 

After a few seconds, he lightened his grip on her leg and let it slowly, carefully glide down, making sure she was standing securely on her two feet.

 

"Careful, love. You're trembling," he murmured, his voice bare of any smugness this time; more than anything it was full of wonder and thick with emotions.

 

Emma swallowed twice and replied, "So are you."

 

Hook treated her to one of his special Killian smiles and brushed his lips tenderly across her temple. "Finish your bath, Swan," he told her in a teasing tone. "If you continue using up all the water, even _my_ charms might fail to pacify the landlady."

 

With that, he stepped out of the shower stall, leaving her there alone feeling sated, breathless, and with emotions tugging so heavily at her heart that she felt grounded and safe as if she were able to sail through the stormiest of weathers without ever getting lost again. _I love him,_ she thought once more, and suddenly she felt the need to _say_ the words… knew for certain that she _would_ do so soon. For the moment, though, she was content to keep them to herself, secretly and thoroughly reveling in them and the happiness they evoked, savoring them in her own heart and mind before she would finally share them.

 

Five minutes later, Emma left the shower and slipped into a fluffy white bathrobe she found hanging on the back of the door. Hook had left the bathroom, so again she went looking for him – not out of panic this time, but simply out of the instinct of new love… the desire to look for the nearness of her new-found significant other, having not gotten her fill of seeing, hearing, or smelling him. She found him in his room, already clad in his black leather pants and, with his back turned to her, rummaging in his closet. For a moment, she allowed herself to admire the sight of his backside in those damn tight pants and the way the muscles of his bare back twitched while he moved. The urge to run her fingers over the scars on his shoulder blade and explore the numerous others that decorated his otherwise perfect body was almost irrepressible. She blushed at the sight of several fresh red marks marring his skin, knowing she was to blame for their appearance.

 

"I'm still here, and I'm still not going anywhere, Swan," he commented without turning around, and she could hear the mix of slightly self-satisfied amusement and honest emotion in his voice. When he finally faced her, he grinned with a boyish, yet devilish joy, seeing her eyes widen involuntarily at the glorious sight of his bare chest. "And it's bad form to sneak in and stare at an unsuspecting man like that," he added, waving his hand at her. In an almost challenging way, he let the black linen shirt he’d just pulled out of the closet dangle from his gleaming hook.

 

"Since when are you so coy?" she teased back.

 

Hook threw the shirt on the bed and sauntered over to her, making sure to put an extra swagger in his step. Emma fastened her eyes on his face and managed only with sheer willpower not to drool. He stopped right in front of her – in the middle of her personal space – and smiled, his eyes sparkling.

 

"Believe me, I'm anything but that," he replied in his lewd pirate voice, "but as much as your obvious veneration flatters me and I'd love to keep you...” he paused a second to let his tongue dart out and moisten his lips, “... _immured_ here for the rest of forever, I know you’ll be wanting to get back to your own place." He lifted the fluffy hood of the bathrobe with his hook and his hand and put it on her wet hair, carefully smoothing it out in a perfect imitation of his gallant gesture back in the Enchanted Forest when he’d helped her cover herself up in those ‘borrowed’ clothes. "And you should," he added softly. "I wouldn't want to tarnish the credit I’ve only recently earned with your parents."

 

Emma smiled. "I have an inkling you won't," she told him, "but you're right. I can't disappear forever." She stood on the balls of her feet for a moment and stole a quick kiss from him. "Although I wouldn't mind being... _immured_ some other time." She enjoyed the effect of her words on him – he seemed almost elated – and started for the bathroom with a regretful sigh. Her hair wouldn’t dry itself, after all.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were both fully dressed and ready to leave. When Hook asked her if she cared for breakfast, she replied with a cat-like smirk: "I'm completely... _sated_."

 

He threw his head back with a wonderful, almost roaring laugh she hadn't heard often from him and replied, "Are you trying to beat me in my very own game, Swan? Now this is _really_ where the fun begins."

 

They left Granny's through the side entrance, and for one moment Emma was reminded of the occasion almost a year ago when she’d seen Hook emerge from the house with Tinker Bell at his heels. The white hot pang of jealousy she’d felt then had been stronger than any she’d ever felt before, and he’d noticed it, of course. _Open book_. Worse, he’d done his best to fuel her jealousy by hinting that he and the pretty fairy had engaged in some indecent activities. _Bastard_ , she’d thought back then. Now she knew better – it had been more a question of desperate matters and desperate measures to him; he had simply been trying to lure her out of her rabbit hole by hinting that he might be interested in another woman. She shook her head at herself mentally; oh, all the unnecessary obstacles she’d forced upon them!

 

A few people nodded to them, and Emma smiled back and returned their good-mornings. Nobody seemed to find anything scandalous at the sight of the Savior and the pirate together, and somehow that made her feel even better. Not that she'd have cared if anybody had thrown them an askew look; she wasn't ashamed of the choice she’d made.

 

"So, what are your plans for today?" Hook asked nonchalantly while they were walking in the direction of her car, side by side as they’d been doing for ages now.

 

"First of all, a change of clothes," she replied. "I need to wash out the dust of the Enchanted Forest." He chuckled, and she went on; "Then I'll maybe rest a bit..." A wicked smirk curved his lips, and she slapped his arm with the back of her hand before he could come up with a lewd reply. "Shut up, pirate,” she snapped and continued firmly; “Then, I'll check on Henry and talk to Regina. And I have to go to the office, of course, to catch up. I guess I'm still the sheriff."

 

"Busy day ahead then," he commented dryly without saying what he actually wanted to: _and when will we meet again?_

 

Emma noticed his hesitation to let her go and smiled to herself, then up at him. Sometimes he was an open book to her, too. "Come by later?" she asked almost casually. "When I'm done with work we can have dinner."

 

Hook's face lit up and he tilted his head a little more than usual in a pleased bow, lips twitching into his little smirk. "That would be a pleasure, Your Highness," he commented, trying to keep the teasing tone to his voice to mask his elation a little. He added quickly, “If you ask so nicely.” He had his pirate reputation to defend, after all, and wasn't supposed to get all giddy over the mere fact that a lass had suggested to share a meal with him.

 

Emma laughed and rolled her eyes. "Good." She then surprised him by pressing a quick kiss on his lips before getting behind the helm of that ridiculously tiny metal vessel of hers and driving off. The dreaded, cutthroat pirate captain stood there by the curb for three full minutes with a stupid grin on his face, his ocean blue eyes staring dreamily in the direction where his Swan had disappeared.

 

***

When Emma finally got home, the apartment was quiet – about which she was relieved. She still felt that her whole body, heart and soul were in an uproar, all muscles aching, sore in all the right places, and all nerves throbbing and humming from the physical and emotional exhaustion. Although it was a cliché she would’ve rolled her eyes at not too long ago, she had the weirdest feeling that her feet weren't even touching the ground when she walked. But she wouldn’t analyze it; she just wanted to revel in it, to let these precious stolen moments with Hook… _Killian_ soak into her skin and settle around her heart. But only for a moment; she surely didn't want her parents to witness her floating around with that silly grin on her face that refused to be suppressed.

 

Somehow, she was still way too keyed up to go to sleep although she knew she really needed to get some rest. She decided that hot cocoa might be just the right thing to calm her down, so she prepared herself a mug complete with whipped cream and sprinkled with an absurd amount of cinnamon before surrendering to the kitchen table, still clad in her dusty jeans. With a sigh, she sat down, but instead of drinking, she just stared dreamily at the wall without actually seeing it; all she saw were blue eyes beneath twitching brows, full lips and an expressive hand dancing before her. Emma sighed almost dreamily and dipped her index finger into the cream. When she sucked it off slowly, suddenly _very_ impure pictures were conjured before her inner eye and she blushed crimson red then grinned to herself.

 

Just in that most inconvenient moment her mother's voice shook her awake from her reverie. “Look who's found her way home. The lost girl.”

 

Emma closed her eyes for a moment then smiled a little sheepishly at Mary Margaret. “Morning,” she murmured. “Sorry if I woke you...”

 

The other woman shook her head. “No, it's okay. I just fed your brother and put him to sleep again.”

 

 _Awkward,_ Emma thought and was desperately searching for what to say. “Ah... where's David... dad?” she stuttered.

 

“Sheriff's office,” Mary Margaret replied, and Emma's eyes must have shown her pang of guilt. Her mother smiled. “It's okay, Emma. After the ordeal you went through everybody understands that you need a little... rest.” She grinned sardonically and added with a little singsong in her voice: “Or whatever it was you got last night.”

 

 _Double awkward!!_ Emma's face felt so hot she thought her skin had to be glowing like a spotlight. She shifted uncomfortably on her chair; alas, the unconscious move reminded her _very_ vividly and with a delicious ache of the passionate night and morning she’d just spent with Hook, making the blush on her cheeks spread across her entire face. Damn! She felt like a stupid lovesick teenager who had to confront to her mother after having done _it_ for the first time, being hit by the dreadful realization that mothers just _knew_. Always.

 

“Mom... do we need to talk about this?” she asked and drew a deep breath, determined to grab the bull by the horns. “Because it might not be a... one-time thing.” She smiled to herself, distracted again for a moment when she thought back to Neverland where she’d declared their heated first kiss exactly that: a _one-time thing_. She wasn't sure if she’d even actually believed that herself back then, but _if_ she had… boy, had she been wrong. She came back to the present when she saw an unreadable expression on her mother's face. “I know you had your problems with...”

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret interrupted and went to the kitchen counter to pour herself a glass of water. Her daughter fell silent immediately, curious and also a little anxious as to what she had to say. “You know,” she went on, facing Emma, “when I met your father for the first time, I thought he was probably the most handsome, but also the most infuriating person in the realm.” She waved her hand to underscore her point. “Or _any_ realm.”

 

Emma looked down at her cocoa mug and smiled fondly, remembering the scene she’d been privy to on her and Hook's crazy journey back in time when she’d actually watched her parents fall in love. And, of course, the parallels between her parents' story and her own hit her like a ton of bricks. The most handsome, but also the most infuriating person in the realm? Yep, that had basically been her Captain - _Ah, so you've heard of me -_ Hook in a nutshell.

 

Mary Margaret sat down at the table opposite of Emma. “And when we parted ways after the troll bridge and he told me he'd always find me...” she shrugged. “I already liked him a little better, but I still thought he was nothing but a loudmouth who would surely fail to live up to his promises, just like all the others.” Emma's eyes darted up to her mother's again, and she heard Hook's voice in her head: _So, when I win your heart, Emma... and I will win it..._ She hadn't been sure what to think about it then, and more than anything else it had frightened the hell out of her.

 

Mary Margaret knew nothing about this, of course, but she was assuming that her stubborn, suspicious daughter – with walls higher than hers ever had been – had once felt very similarly about a certainly more than loudmouthed pirate like she had about her prince.

 

The women shared an almost conspiratorial smile and Mary Margaret shrugged again. “But he never gave up on me,” she went on in a serious voice. “He did find me, as he’d promised, and he saved me. Again and again.”

 

Emma smiled and heard Hook's voice again, telling her: _There's not a day will go by I won't think of you... I came back to save you,_ like it was the most natural thing in the world. And to him, it had been. _Always_.“And you saved _him_ ,” she replied.

 

Mary Margaret nodded and reached out for her daughter's hand to squeeze it. “Emma, when you find someone like that... or when someone like that finds _you_...” She shook her head. “You don't let them go, no matter what.”

 

Emma was both surprised and happy about how her mother took the news, but maybe it wasn’t really news to her. If there was anyone who should be an expert when it came to True Love, it would be Snow White, right? _If you love them and they love you, they will always find you._ Suddenly, it all fell into place. She drew a deep breath and squeezed her mother's hand back with a smile. “I have no intention to.”

 

Mary Margaret chuckled. “I had my problems with Hook in the past, yes. He's surely a hard piece of work and no angel.” At that point, Emma had to lower her eyes and suppress an all-too-knowing grin. “But neither is any one of us,” her mother went on seriously, “and the past is in the past. Things have changed. For me, he will forever be the man who saved your father's life when there was nothing in it for him.” She grinned. “And the pirate captain who sent me to steal your father's wedding ring.” And then, with a very intense look at Emma: “ _And_ the man who brought my child back to me, twice...” – she smiled fondly – “…because he loves her probably as much as I do.”

 

Emma had to blink to hold back her tears; dammit, she’d never been the one to weep easily. She smiled and reached out for her mother's hand again. “Thanks, Mary Margaret. _Mom_.” Suddenly, she had to cover a huge yawn, the events of the night and the emotions swirling in her psyche catching up to her all at once. She pushed away her half-emptied mug and rose from her seat. “I think I'm going to take a nap.”

 

Mary Margaret grinned knowingly into her water glass and murmured, “Someone really didn't get much sleep last night...”

 

“Mom...” Emma moaned and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “This is really not something I want to discuss with my _mother_.”

 

Mary Margaret raised her hands. “Okay, okay. You're being childish, but... okay.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head while she went to the stairs. Mary Margaret listened to her footsteps and suddenly felt a little melancholic for a moment, thinking that she and Emma would never have those girls' chats again like they’d done before the first curse had been broken and they’d simply been best friends, not bonded by blood. But that emotion passed very quickly and her heart overflowed with happiness when she realized that Emma's reaction had been just the same as any average daughter's would’ve been. Yes, they were finally really and truly mother and daughter now.

 

 

 


	5. You Can Say Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been posted already as chapter 4, wrongly so. Those of you who have read it already can jump to the next one right away. And sorry again for the mix up.

_ **Chapter 5:** _

 

_**You Can Say Boyfriend** _

 

Emma slept a few hours then got up shortly after noon feeling surprisingly refreshed and relishing the tender happiness which touched a smile to her lips even before her eyes opened. She wasn’t used to this; a fragile yet thrilling sort of bliss danced across her conscience and tapped against her heart, making her anxious about breaking the tenuous hold of such a perfect moment. Peeking through her lashes, she felt a slight pang of disappointment at finding herself in her own bed…alone. With a sigh, she stretched her limbs, but grinned again when a few aching muscles protested. After a few minutes of replaying the incredible amorous delights of the past night and that morning in her head, no, _reliving_ them, she threw the sheets back reluctantly and got up. If she had to get out of bed, at least she knew that more delights were to follow, and soon. Already the thought made her insides quiver.

 

 _No_ , she corrected herself mentally while she brushed her teeth; the best thing about this new development was that she’d found her True Love, unbelievable as it seemed. In _Killian Jones_ , in _Captain Hook_ …they were one and the same to her and always would be. When she looked at the man she loved, one persona couldn’t be processed without the other; like two sides of the same coin. And she couldn't – wouldn't want to – imagine him any other way. Inseparably interwoven, just as this new found love they shared. In the end, however, he'd done the same for her as she'd done for him: he'd made her truly believe in herself – maybe for the first time – and given her a chance to believe in love again. They were really and truly soul mates. _Mates_. Yes, he would like that. She smiled to herself once more as she heard his voice in her head, pronouncing the old-fashioned word – one of his favorites – in that adorable accent of his.

 

Despite all his roguishness, at times even ruthlessness, that damn pirate had imperturbably boarded her heart without any trickery and cast anchor there so thoroughly and firmly that it could never be removed again.

 

After freshening up a little, Emma rummaged through her closet and decided to put on a short skirt, successfully convincing herself that it had nothing to do with her brand new boyfriend but just with the fact that she was fed up with winter. With her black New York heels and a spring in her step she went downstairs, trying not to be noisy, in case her baby brother was sleeping. But obviously, nobody was home.

 

She spotted a note on the table, written in Mary Margaret's elegant, slightly old-fashioned handwriting: _“I'm taking Neal to his 1 week check-up. Sandwiches for you & your father in the fridge. Love, M.”_

 

Emma smiled fondly. _M_ as in _Mary Margaret_? _Mom_? Ah, how wonderful to finally have one. She grabbed the paper bag from the fridge and left the apartment. While she headed downstairs, she fished out her cell phone from her purse and dialed a number.

 

“Yes?” a smoky, slightly haughty female voice answered.

 

"Hi Regina, it's Emma,” she said brightly. “Could I speak to Henry, please?"

 

Her former enemy cleared her throat. "Ah... Henry isn't here right now. He...” She paused, obviously looking for the right words – something that normally wasn't Regina at all. “Robin took Roland to the woods, and they asked Henry if he'd like to come along,” she explained a little hastily and added almost reluctantly: “I hope you don't mind."

 

"No, that's fine, really,” Emma replied. “I mean, I haven't known him for a long time, but from what I saw, he seems to be a decent man.” She surprised herself by adding: “If you say he's good, that's good enough for me, I guess. I trust you."

 

"Well, I guess there's a first time for everything..." Regina tried to play it cool, but Emma knew her well enough to detect the – pleased – surprise in her rich voice, too.

 

She smiled to herself. "Yeah..."

 

"So...” Regina pulled herself together again after her minimalistic display of friendliness, “...as I'm not sure when they'll be back, I'll drop by later and..."

 

"No, that won't be necessary,” Emma interrupted quickly and went on in a more serious tone, “Henry might not fully realize it yet, but he missed an entire year with you. He needs to spend more time with you. We'll work out an arrangement, when everything's settled down again, if that's okay with you."

 

"Of course that's okay with me,” Regina replied and added after a little pause: “Henry told me you're not planning to go back to New York anymore?"

 

Although the other woman couldn't see her, Emma smiled and nodded. "Yes, that's right."

 

"And is there any chance of you changing your mind... again?" There was only the slightest trace of sarcasm in Regina's voice.

 

"No, you don't have to worry,” Emma assured a little ruefully. “My journey has come to an end. My home is here. So is Henry's."

 

"Well, in that case...” Regina added a little regal snark to her voice, but again, Emma could tell it didn't have the sharp, bitter edge of past times. “Welcome to Storybrooke, Miss Swan."

 

She shook her head and grinned. "Thanks, Madam Mayor."

 

Regina cleared her throat again. "So, I'll have Henry call you when he's back."

 

"That would be great.” Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind, and before she could think it through, the words tumbled from her mouth: “Oh, and Regina... do you think we could maybe resume the... lessons?"

 

If Regina was surprised, she didn't show it. “It would be irresponsible not to,” was her verdict. “We'll talk about that soon.”

 

Emma said her good bye and hung up, asking herself what she had just done and why, while she climbed into her bug. Emma Swan, the greatest skeptic and most reluctant possessor of magic, wanting to understand it and learn its proper use? But then, she admitted to herself, it was only the logical consequence of what Hook had taught her, had _pushed_ her to accept: this was her home, where she belonged and who she was, and she needed to _embrace it._ She smiled to herself again – how many times now? – when she realized that, sooner or later, all her thoughts always reverted back to him.

 

Five minutes later, she parked in front of the police station and entered the building. David was going through some files and almost jumped when she breezed in. “Emma! I didn't even expect you here today,” he exclaimed.

 

“Well, I'm still the sheriff, I guess,” she replied with a touch of uncertainty.

 

“Of course! I'm just...” He motioned vaguely to the papers on his desk. “Trying to reconnect. It's been a year for me, too.”

 

“I know...” For a moment, grief over the once again lost time flooded Emma's heart, but she pushed it aside with determination. The important thing was that she and Henry were reunited with their family now; they would find their way together. She smiled and waved the paper bag from side to side. “Lunch time!”

 

David frowned. “You made sandwiches?”

 

She laughed. “No, mom did.” It still felt unusual to say it, but not in an unpleasant way.

 

He beamed, obviously pleased with her choice of words. They sat down and ate while David filled her in on the current investigations, which were not many, really. Obviously, Storybrooke was a rather peaceful town as long as there wasn't any suspicious magical nonsense going on. Speaking of which...

 

“So, I still don't know what happened to Zelena,” Emma prompted after they finished their lunch. “Did you find anything out yet?”

 

David shook his head. “It’s very mysterious, to say the least.” Emma raised a questioning eyebrow, and he went on. “It looks like she committed suicide somehow.”

 

“What do you mean, _somehow_?” Emma asked pointedly. “That sounds suspicious.”

 

“No, well, she did kill herself,” David confirmed. “We saw it. We saw the surveillance tape, I mean,” he explained.

 

“But she was locked up, wasn't she? Then how did she do it?” Emma questioned.

 

“That's the mysterious part,” he replied, and they went over to the monitor.

 

After watching the part of the video where Zelena shattered into pieces a few times, Emma shook her head. “There's something that's not right here.” She threw her father a probing stare. “We have to find out what really happened. I have no interest in discovering what other surprises might’ve been triggered by her death – if she truly is dead.”

 

David frowned. “What do you mean, _if_?”

 

Emma threw her hands in the air. “I have no idea!” she almost snapped in exasperation. “I'm _still_ new to all this!” She was pacing back and forth. “We have to search the town and the woods, go back to her house. Who knows what else she had in store just waiting for someone to stumble across? The portal was bad enough. I just have a bad gut feeling.”

 

Her father nodded. “I'm just glad you weren’t alone,” he commented with a meaningful undertone.

 

That threw her off track a little; she couldn't help but smile to herself. “Yeah,” she murmured.

 

Switching off the monitor, David remarked almost casually, “Hook's alright.”

 

Emma nodded, not really surprised by her father's attitude. She knew his point of view about Hook had started to change gradually quite some time ago, even as far back as Neverland. Still, she was glad that he didn't resent the shift in _her_ relationship with the handsome scoundrel. “Yes, he is.”

 

He threw her a probing sideways glance. “He cares a lot about you.”

 

She turned to face him and smiled. “I know... dad.”

 

David drew a deep breath. He saw his daughter's smile, and was thrilled to see the happiness shining behind it – unlike many times before, when in spite of a smile blooming on her lips, there had always been a faint but unmistakable trace of sadness in her eyes. But this was still Emma Swan, lost girl, with walls higher than those of Jericho. She deserved to keep that happiness within her, and he would do everything he could to make sure she embraced it, even if it did take a one-handed pirate to make her happy. The man wasn't so bad, after all.

 

“Emma,” he began, “I know you have a hard time when it comes to letting people come close to you... especially those you care about.” He tilted his head in a way that mirrored Hook's trademark gesture in a startling way. “And I know you do care about him. But...”

 

She understood what he was doing and put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Dad,” she interrupted and leaned a little forward, scrutinizing him closely to make sure he didn't miss the meaning of her words. “I'm done running, really. And yes, I do care about him.” She drew a deep breath and added almost shyly: “ _A lot_. And I trust him.” She smiled again. “Completely.”

 

David returned her smile and nodded. “I'd never have thought I'd say this, but – so do I.” The moment the words had left his mouth, however, he shot his index finger at her like a bullet. “Don't you _ever_ tell the pirate I said that.”

 

Emma grinned. “My lips are sealed,” she promised and winked. “However, you're not good at hiding it anyway.” David huffed theatrically, and she nudged him playfully. “Looks like you're... _mates_ now?”

 

He shrugged grumpily. “Well, given the latest... events, it would certainly make things easier, wouldn't it?”

 

“I'd say so,” Emma agreed.

 

For the better part of the afternoon, they tossed around theories on what had actually happened in Zelena's cell, puzzling over how she'd managed to kill herself magically since by taking away her pendant Regina had supposedly taken away her magic; had some of it remained? And if she'd still had magic, why hadn't she used it to free herself? Both law enforcers had the gut feeling that the Zelena affair was far from over yet. Calling for a break, David left for a moment to pick up some really good coffee at Granny's – as the coffee machine in the sheriff's office had seen better days. Emma sighed and rewatched the tape for about the fiftieth time that day, or so it seemed to her, but for the life of her she couldn't detect anything new and leaned back in her chair with a frustrated huff, switching the monitor off.

 

“There's something that doesn't match,” she threw over her shoulder without looking when she heard the door open, “but I can't figure out what it is.”

 

“Match what?” came the prompt reply, and her head flipped around at the sound of the voice.

 

"Hook!” she exclaimed in surprise when she saw the man in black standing in the door – devastatingly handsome, as always, twinkling eyes, smiling broadly, his left arm slightly bent at the elbow in his typical posture with the shimmering hook nonchalantly resting against his silver belt buckle. Her stomach started to flutter immediately, and somehow that annoyed her. “What are you doing here?" she asked a little defensively as she quickly got to her feet.

 

She was used to him being her shadow, of course; used to him appearing – sometimes out of the blue – right beside her no matter where or _when_ she might find herself in need. And although she'd always felt a certain undeniable kind of attraction drawing her towards him – she could finally admit it – she'd never felt like _this_ in his presence: all flustered with butterflies invading her stomach, hot lead flowing through her veins, eyes inevitably drawn to his face, his lips… her knees slightly shaky and her palms damp. The sensations were somehow clouding her brain and her judgment, and that was highly confusing because it had never happened to her before. _Ever_. All she had to do was look at him and she could barely suppress the urge to walk up to him, entangle her hands in his unruly hair and pull him in for a deep kiss. Automatically, her fingers curled into fists. _That_ would have to wait. Alas, the thought alone was enough to make her pulse quicken. But she really didn't need this distraction right now. _Wanting_ it was an entirely different notion.

 

Hook cocked his head and raised his eyebrows teasingly, accompanied by his heart-stopping grin. _Not helping,_ Emma thought in frustration. "Why, isn't there someone pleased to see me?" he drawled with perfectly well-dosed teasing in his voice. Innocent as his statement was, he still managed to make it sound suggestive. That upset her even more, because it wasn't the time or place, no matter how tempting he was – her father could be back any minute.

 

She took a step closer to him and lowered her voice menacingly. "I'm _at work,_ " she pointed out.

 

He stepped even closer, of course – _welcome to my personal space_ , she thought grimly – and lowered his voice, too... somehow, though, his tone didn't sound menacing at all, more like liquid chocolate that she desperately wanted to taste on her tongue. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. _Not helping at all!!_ "And I came here to help," he replied and smirked. "What did _you_ think I had in mind, Swan?"

 

"This is not the place!” Emma hissed. “I'm serious!"

 

“Here we go!” David's voice announced brightly as he threw the door open, carrying two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Hook standing there.

 

Quickly, Emma stepped back again and turned to David; she felt like she’d been caught red-handed doing something wicked, although she hadn't done anything in the least bit debatable – well, maybe in her mind, but her father couldn't possibly know _that_ , could he? She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Look who's here. Your new best mate!"

 

For maybe a second or two, David had the tiniest moment of irrationally wanting to punch Hook hard right in his handsome face – this was solely due to his instinctive knowledge of what had happened the night before between the pirate and his daughter, his _little girl_ after all, even if he had known her only as a grown woman. He saw that she was happy and finally seemed to have found some peace and also love, and he knew that this man was far from perfect, but _just right_ for her. He'd even encouraged her to allow herself that happiness earlier that afternoon, encouraging her to allow Hook to make her happy; but still, knowing they'd been in an intimate situation riled him up – a feeling every father would understand. But it was over as fast as it had come, and he gave the pirate a short, but nevertheless welcoming nod.

 

Hook raised his eyebrows again, in a clueless way this time, his bright blue eyes dancing to and fro between Emma and David, accompanied by his gesturing hand. "Did I miss something?" he questioned.

 

David put the coffee down on his desk and shook his head, ignoring Emma's eye roll, and asked: "What's up? Any news?"

 

Hook scratched behind his ear. "Actually, I was hoping you had some for me,” he started. “Thought you could fill me in about the Wicked Witch's death.” Emma and David exchanged a glance. Hook tilted his head in a shrug and explained: “I mean, I'd hate to stumble over any other legacy of hers... that portal was bad enough. We should at least check her former lair to make sure she didn't have...” – he waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture – “...anything else in store, shouldn't we?"

 

Despite her earlier annoyance, Emma suppressed a smile. It still worked; she and Hook, they were thinking alike. David wasn't oblivious to that, either, and turned to her with a grin. "That's a really plausible thought, isn't it, Emma?" he asked, amusement heavily lacing his suggestion.

 

She rolled her eyes again, at both men this time, and turned to Hook, nodding towards the desk with the monitor. "Come on, I'll show you the tape," she told him gruffly, while David suppressed a laugh and went back to his files with his coffee.

 

"The... _tape_?" he echoed in a completely clueless voice, and she enjoyed it – like always when that happened – to see her blatantly self-confident pirate getting all insecure about stuff he didn't understand. He was simply... _cute_ , for lack of a better word.

 

She nodded. "Yes. We can watch the exact moment Zelena died." She motioned to the monitor again.

 

Hook narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Is this some sort of magic like The Dark One's orb?” he asked and tilted his head. “You're getting quite fond of that stuff, aren't you?"

 

She shook her head. "That's not magic. It's...” she waved her hand impatiently. “…too complicated for now. Here, look at this." She pointed to the camera. "Let's say this is something like a... a technical eye,” she tried to explain. “It sort of... conserves what it sees. And then we can watch that..." – she pointed to the monitor again – "...here."

 

Hook's eyes darted from the monitor to the “technical eye” and back again. Things he didn't understand had always made him nervous. "Bloody hell,” he grumbled. “That _is_ magic."

 

Emma grinned, already pacified. "I see it will be fun to introduce you to modern times," she teased.

 

Hook threw her a suggestive glance, suddenly all dashing rapscallion again. "Oh, I'm sure you can make it fun, Swan..." his eyes locked with hers, and his wicked tongue darted out quickly, moistening his full bottom lip.

 

She blushed and slapped his leather-clad shoulder. "Just sit down and watch," she growled.

 

Obediently, he slumped down on the chair. “Such a commanding attitude,” he murmured in an amused voice, raised an eyebrow at her and added with a wolfish grin: “I'll let that pass... _for now_.” With the last words, his voice dropped a few notes and his sapphire eyes pierced hers with a quiet, wanton promise that made her blush deepen and her breath quicken.

 

Emma rolled her eyes and then averted them, cleared her throat and switched the monitor on again, acting deliberately all business-like. Hook let that pass, too; he just secretly grinned to himself, enjoying the happiness flooding through his veins. Of course he'd known for a long time that his Swan had felt the same attraction towards him as he'd felt for her, even if she'd refused to accept it. He'd also known that, moreover, she had feelings for him – of course she hadn't accepted those for a long time either. But now, that she had, it seemed like all dams had been broken, and obviously she wasn't capable of suppressing her feelings around him any longer. And although he hadn't commented on it, of course it hadn't gone unnoticed by his skilled eye that he hadn't seen Emma Swan wear a skirt – a _very short_ skirt – in a very long time. Now suddenly, she was back to that – rather dashing – fashion again? _Coincidence?_ Hook grinned to himself. He’d never believed in coincidence; no, she'd definitely dressed like that because she desired to look extra lovely to his eyes. That elated him incredibly, but of course he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable about it – probably it would take her some time to get used to that, too.

 

He decided to watch the mocking and said with only mild teasing in his voice: "Alright, show me your magic then, Swan." Her head snapped around to him again, and she shot him adorable green daggers, so he raised his hand in a soothing gesture. "No pun intended," he added.

 

Emma narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him closely, but she saw that his smile was genuine and sweet, and bare of any lewdness… _this_ time. She relaxed a little and smiled back.

 

"Okay, look here."

 

About an hour later, David was still studying old files, trying to get his slightly blurred memory set on that particular part of his life – the part of being a policeman – whereas Hook was still staring at the relatively small monitor, eyes squinted like he was at the helm of his ship, looking directly into the sun. This almost dice-shaped Storybrooke version of The Dark One's magic orb was still very suspicious to him. Although the mysterious device – that seemed so normal and everyday to his Swan and the prince – had shown him the moment of the Wicked Witch's death already a few times, he still couldn't wrap his mind around what actually had happened.

 

"Once more," he demanded.

 

Emma huffed. He'd made her replay the damn tape over and over again, and every time she'd bent forward to operate the recorder, he'd used the occasion to touch her – if on purpose or not, she couldn't even tell, but it was highly distracting, and she really didn't need that at work. Every brush of his knuckles on the back of her hand, every turning of his head in her direction, his nose almost touching her cheek, was too much. Let alone his intoxicating scent that filled her nostrils and made her head spin and evoked the almost irrepressible urge to jump the man's bones. This was _ridiculous_! How was any sane, hot-blooded, breathing female supposed to concentrate around him? Especially one that knew exactly what his skin tasted like and how he felt moving inside of her? She shoved the remote control into his hand.

 

"Just hit rewind, for heaven's sake!" she snapped.

 

"Hit?" he echoed with a frown. "But Swan, didn't you say this device is to be handled very delicately, like a woman's..."

 

"Dammit, Hook!" she interrupted and threw her hands up in exasperation. "You can navigate a freaking _ship_ , you'll be able to handle this!"

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why are you so upset, love?" he asked innocently. Then, he suddenly realized with his infallible instinct what was really bothering her and couldn't help but smirk. “I'm making you _nervous!_ ” he told her outright. It definitely wasn’t a question.

 

“No, you're not!” she contradicted hotly, absolutely betraying herself with her insistence. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in complete mockery, like he was saying _really?!_ Emma tried to save face and added a little haughtily: “Please. You've always been following me around, and you _never_ made me nervous.” She heard herself say: _Please. You couldn't handle it._ The tone of her voice now was the same as it had been then, and her words were just about as true.

 

He shook his head. “That was before we...” – he paused and took a moment to run his tongue along the inside of his bottom teeth – “...cast anchor.”

 

“ _Hook!_ ” she hissed sharply and threw a glance over her shoulder to see if her father had noticed anything, but David had his nose sill buried in his files and was doing a convincing job at being oblivious to their conversation.

 

Hook smirked again. “Besides,” he went on in an almost triumphant voice, “We both know I made you nervous from the very first day we met. When you put your hand on my shoulder at the foot of that beanstalk, it was _trembling_.” With the last word, his eyebrows twitched in a challenging way. Quickly, he grabbed her hand and held it firmly in his big one, her palm up, and stroked his ringed thumb slowly over the sensitive flesh of her palm. It was an almost casual gesture, but accompanied by a blatantly shameless, burning gaze and an almost obscene roll of his tongue. “Like _this_ ,” he added in his husky voice. It felt like he was touching her directly where she’d started to ache for him. Emma blushed crimson and snatched her hand away.

 

“Stop that, Hook!” she growled. “My father’s here!” She shoved him hard in the shoulder, making him protest.

 

David looked up from his paperwork just in the right moment to see his daughter’s act of violence. “Come on, Emma,” he chastised. “He's just trying to help.”

 

Hook grinned but knew it was wiser to shut up now. Emma rolled her eyes and bent a little forward again, invading _his_ personal space now which he noticed with some satisfaction. Ah, playing the innuendo game was _so_ much more fun now that he knew where all those word plays, casual touches and suggestive glances would lead to in the end: a very willing Emma in his bed, squirming in his arms, sighing, gasping, _crying out_ his name.

 

“And you didn't make me _nervous_ ,” she muttered petulantly under her breath, “you got on my _nerves_. That's not the same thing.”

 

Hook didn't reply; he just tilted his head and played with the remote control in his hand. Flustered, and pissed off because of it, Emma seized it away again and started to press buttons.

 

“Guys,” David interrupted, “I think it's best if we take a break here for today. I don't think we'll find out anything more from the tape. We're stuck.”

 

“I agree, mate,” Hook nodded and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “I have the impression I wouldn't notice even if I saw anything.”

 

“Then let's go,” David suggested, and both men threw a questioning glance at Emma. She nodded, too, almost relieved to escape this situation that to her was still new and weird; she supposed she would get used to it, but she wasn't there yet.

 

Five minutes later, the three of them left the sheriff's office. David locked the door and turned to his daughter and her pirate boyfriend. “So, what are you guys up to?” he asked, casually addressing them as a couple. This, of course, didn't go unnoticed by the two. Hook was secretly pleased by the prince's attitude, whereas Emma was basically happy about her parents' final acceptance of the man she loved, but still felt that kind of awkwardness every daughter feels when she watches her first boyfriend interact with her parents. The afternoon spent in the company of the two men when she'd tried to adapt to her new role as a daughter _and_ a lover had only added to that awkwardness. She shoved her hands into the pockets of the short black trench coat she’d chosen for the day.

 

“Oh, I think we'll just have some dinner over at Granny's...” She cleared her throat and went on: “Would you and Mary Margaret... mom... like to join us?” She threw a quick sideways glance at Hook to see his reaction. If he minded her inviting her parents for company, he didn't show it.

 

David raised both hands. “Oh, no, not today,” he replied. “Mary Margaret had a bad night...” He shrugged. “The joys of parenthood.”

 

For some reason, this remark made Emma feel even more awkward, and she quickly looked away from Hook and down at her feet. “Okay...” she murmured. “Well, then I guess we'll just...” She motioned vaguely towards herself, Hook and the direction where Granny's diner was. Her embarrassment seemed to suddenly rub off on Hook, and he shuffled his feet a little, hoping to get away soon. A faint blush swept over her cheeks and she added a little sheepishly: “I don't know, when...”

 

“Emma,” David interrupted, “it's fine. I'll see you.”

 

“Yeah,” she nodded and was relieved to be able to head for her car.

 

Hook quickly turned on his heel to follow her, but stopped dead in his tracks when he felt David's hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed. _Wonderful_. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. David gave him a serious, if not warning glance.

 

“I trust my daughter's safe with you,” David remarked quietly. There was no question in his voice, and no rating. In spite of their friendly talk from the previous evening, Hook hadn't been so sure about David's attitude on the fact that, obviously, his daughter had spent the night with the pirate. But it appeared as if the prince wasn't going to lash out at him for that – more than that, he was practically giving him his approval.

 

Hook nodded. “You have my word,” he replied almost solemnly.

 

“Good.”

 

And with that, he turned around and walked over to his own car. Hook grinned to himself. Emma's father hadn't even thrown him so much as a menacing glance before accepting the word of a _pirate_ for good. Damn that prince, he wasn't such a twit after all.

 

“Are you coming or what?” Emma called, sounding a little impatient.

 

“Oh, I'm definitely envisaging that, love,” he muttered under his breath, choosing a more subtle double entendre to preserve sensibilities – after all, they were in a public place, and he did believe in good form, which also meant not embarrassing his lady in front of potential eavesdroppers.

 

When he climbed beside her in the bug – as usual, a little clumsily and reluctantly – she turned to him with a sigh. He looked at her with an expectant little smile that made nothing but her heart flutter, and she asked herself once more what exactly that man was doing to her, what spell he had cast. All embarrassment and uneasiness had vanished as David got into his own car and driven past them with a smile and a wave.

 

"I'm sorry if I was edgy," she sighed.

 

Hook smiled with only the smallest tease. "Not at all, love," he replied, waving his hand through the air as if he was tenderly following the curve of a woman's body. "Let me assure you that you’ve the softest contours of any..."

 

Emma tore her eyes away from his meandering hand with some effort and couldn't help but smirk. "Hook," she interrupted softly, and he fell silent when he saw her shining green eyes look directly into his and noticed that her demeanor had switched back from tense to normal.

 

He raised his left arm and smoothed out her hair with his hook, stroking it behind her shoulder. "What?" he asked with tenderness in his eyes.

 

"This is all new for me," she told him, and he didn't inquire what she meant because he understood exactly. He just tilted his head a little to indicate that he was listening. "I never was a lover... and a daughter at the same time," she explained and swallowed as she realized once more how fundamentally her life had changed in the past few days. The once lost girl had finally found her home in more ways than one. Hook could read the emotions on her face so clearly it almost hurt because he could relate so much, having been a lost and lonely soul for centuries himself. He resisted the urge to touch her though; he knew she needed to talk first.

 

"Although I'm a grown woman and a mother myself," she went on with a shrug, "I feel like a schoolgirl who's bringing her boyfriend home to her parents for the first time." She scrutinized him closely, searching for understanding in his eyes, and it didn't surprise her at all to find it there; he of all people had always understood her, after all. _Open book._ Still, she felt a bit ridiculous and smiled sheepishly.

 

He leaned a little forward and looked at her from under his thick eyebrows in his typical way. "Be careful whom you call a _boy_ here, Swan," he teased slowly with that rich, dark nuance to his voice that was enough to make her toes curl, and the emotionally loaded moment had passed, once more leaving room for light and playful bantering between lovers.

 

Emma's eyes were drawn to his mouth, like so often, and she smiled and braced the remaining space between them, brushing her lips over his mouth quickly. "It's just a saying," she whispered against his slightly parted lips and added wickedly: "And yes, you do make me nervous. I have the most embarrassing feeling that when my father sees us together, he looks at me and knows _exactly_ what I'm thinking..."

 

He raised his hand and traced his thumb almost casually along her jaw, lingering on her chin for a moment. "And just what exactly is it you're thinking, love?" he murmured.

 

She leaned back with a cheeky grin, so wonderfully playful and carefree that it pleased him more than anything else, and started the engine, her sparkling green eyes fixed on the street before them. "And wouldn't you like to know," she replied.

 

About ten minutes later, they’d settled down in a niche at Granny's, facing each other, the table between them. Nobody had taken special notice of them entering and taking their place, and again it amazed Emma how much people were already used to seeing them together. Ruby was the only one who’d thrown a suggestive _you-go-girl-_ smile and a wink their way when she’d taken their orders. She started to wonder if they’d already been considered a couple before they even were one. Or had they already _been_ a couple even before noticing it themselves, minus the lovemaking? At any rate, she suddenly realized that this was something like their first date... nobody else around, no crisis to face. The sole purpose of them sitting here together having dinner was... just being _together_.

 

Emma stole a glance at Hook's face and saw that he was looking at her with that special, slight Killian-smile that was bare of any mockery or teasing, no matter how playful. Instead, it was filled with silent admiration and an eager but quiet anticipation – not really expecting or demanding anything, just waiting for what she was willing to give. She realized how many times she’d already seen it on his face when he’d been focusing on her, but she’d never fully understood what it meant. It made her feel cherished more than anything else, and she also felt completely at ease with herself and with them sitting here – with their date. _Courting_ , she thought and smiled to herself when she remembered how she’d tried to explain modern language to Hook the previous evening – seriously, had that only been about twenty-four hours ago?

 

“What?” he asked when he noticed her secret smile.

 

She shook her head. “Nothing. I'm just...”

 

They were interrupted by Ruby approaching the table with their food. Suddenly, Emma felt like she was starving; they both started to eat but never stopped watching each other. In fact, both enjoyed just watching the other one do normal, everyday things; they hadn't experienced much of that yet.

 

Suddenly, the ringing of Emma's phone interrupted the quiet atmosphere, and she almost jumped a little and fished for it in her handbag. “Must be Henry,” she murmured, and Hook just smiled and waved his hand encouragingly. The magic of telephones was one of the first things he had learned about in this realm – and the endless importance they held. He had to admit, of course, that they did have their appeal. Indeed a quicker and safer way to communicate than sending a pigeon. Someday, he would get one of the mysterious devices, too.

 

Emma looked at her phone and nodded. It was indeed Henry; Regina had promised to have him call her. She smiled and answered the phone. “Hey, kid!”

 

“Mom,” came the reply, and she automatically smiled when she heard the elation in his voice. Obviously, he'd had a fun day – about time he was starting to have them, she thought. Since the day she'd met him, she'd hardly seen him as a happy, normal kid, doing things normal kids did; she knew that their year in New York didn't really count, and she was aware that maybe the moment she'd told him they would stay in Storybrooke because it was their home was the first moment Henry had started to feel like there was a chance for him to have a normal life. Okay, as normal as life could be with Rumplestiltskin, Snow White and Prince Charming as grandparents and the Evil Queen as second mother – but obviously, this didn't seem to bother him at all. He just wanted to be a kid with a real home, surrounded by friends, family and love, and he couldn't care less if that inner circle included magical creatures, pirates, fairies or sorcerers.

 

“How was your day?” she asked. “I heard you've been in the woods?”

 

“Pretty cool,” came the answer. “It was fun.”

 

“You getting along with the boy?”

 

“Roland? Yeah...” Emma could see her son shrug before her inner eye. “He's a bit clingy, but okay. Can I stay here for another few days?”

 

She smiled, and Hook silently enjoyed watching her facial expression as she talked to her son. “Sure, kid,” she replied, “don't worry. We'll... we'll work out an arrangement soon, okay?”

 

“Cool. Are you home?” the boy asked.

 

Emma looked down at her plate. “Ah... no,” she replied after a short moment of hesitation. “I'm at Granny's.”

 

“Oh.” _Damn that kid,_ she could hear the grin in his voice. “Not alone, I hope?”

 

She threw a quick glance at Hook and licked her lips a little nervously. “No,” she answered and hoped Henry would let the subject rest. Although the kid had shown her the evening before that he found it absolutely _cool_ that his mom was dating Captain Hook, it was a little like with David in the afternoon: she had to get used to it.

 

“Good,” he replied simply. “Have fun, mom. Talk to you tomorrow,” he quickly said then hung up.

 

Emma looked down at her phone with a nervous little smile and finally put it away again, just to find Hook's gaze resting on her face when she raised her eyes again. He grinned.

 

"So,” he said, “how's the lad holding up?"

 

"Henry?” she shrugged. “He never ceases to amaze me. He's doing pretty well, although it's been a bit much lately, even for him.” For a moment, her gaze drifted off, a fond glow flowing over her face. “He's a tough guy."

 

Hook smiled. "Like mother, like son."

 

She chuckled. "Yeah... well, he's just happy we're staying in Storybrooke."

 

He nodded. "It's important to him that everything's back to normal."

 

"As normal as it gets..." she replied with slight irony in her voice. Who knew when the next crisis would happen...

 

"To him, it is." His hand played with his half-empty beer glass and he tilted his head questioningly. "Does he miss his father?"

 

That had been unexpected. A shadow flew over Emma's face, but she was also touched that Hook showed that much interest and compassion in Henry – touched, but not really surprised. That was simply so _him_. "Good question...” she replied thoughtfully. “Well, he can hardly miss what he never had; he barely knew Neal.” She sighed, like always, when that subject was addressed, feeling a mix of guilt, remorse and shame wash over her; something that would probably never completely go away. She would have to learn to deal with it; maybe she wouldn't have to do it alone. “I think he misses having the chance," she added and shrugged. "David’s great, and he has the right age, but... weird as it is, he's _Grandpa_ to him.” Hook grinned, and she went on: “Today he went into the forest with Robin and Roland... he seemed to like it."

 

He’d been listening attentively and nodded. "He'll be alright, Swan,” he told her in a soothing tone, “you'll get him through it.” His voice was filled with that typical, unfaltering confidence he’d always shown in her. _I have yet to see you fail._ “He's surrounded by good people who love him. And your father is fair good company...” – he smirked and tilted his head – “for a _grandfather_."

 

Emma scrutinized him closely, thoughtfully. She didn't want to push anything, but then... she'd heard his voice when he'd offered to talk to Henry after Neal had been killed, to help him through it; the kid had enjoyed that. And she knew from their journey back from Neverland on the Jolly Roger that Henry had taken an instinctive liking to Hook. Back then, it had seemed somehow weird to her, but now, she realized, she should have expected it. Henry had always had a talent for seeing through people's facades – to see the best in people – and he'd hardly ever been wrong.

 

Spontaneously, she asked: "Maybe you...could spend some time with him, too?” She leaned a little forward, searching his gaze, and added: “He’d love that." Hook blinked, looked down at his plate and fidgeted with his fork, acting deliberately nonchalant, but she could clearly see how much her suggestion, her display of trust, really pleased him, and she was happy about that. "He’s been asking a lot of questions about Neverland, lately,” she went on quickly. “Maybe you could..." She waved her hand and left the sentence hanging unfinished in the air.

 

There was the bowed head tilt again, and his eyes hiked back up to her face. "Of course I'll gladly assist if I can be of use to the lad..."

 

"He likes you, Killian,” she interrupted with a smile, perfectly aware of what he was doing. “A lot." He nodded and scratched behind his ear, looking down at his plate again. Emma added quietly but clearly: "Like mother, like son..." An adorable, pleased grin flew over his scruffy face; Emma decided it was time to change the subject to lighten the atmosphere. "And what did _you_ do all day today?" she asked. “Before you came to the sheriff's station, that is.”

 

He shook his head. "Not so much... I went to the barn and checked if everything's safe."

 

Her eyes widened in mild surprise; but then... he'd just been doing what actually had been on _her_ mind the whole day. In a way, he had her back, as always. "Really?"

 

Hook tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "I've learned I’d always better be looking over my shoulder.” He moved his hand dismissively. “But it looks like there's no threat anymore from that side."

 

Emma smiled. “Always the hero,” she commented with benevolent irony.

 

He frowned and waved her off a little impatiently. “I'm nothing of the sort, love,” he contradicted and threw her an almost challenging glance. “Do you really reckon I would have leapt into that time portal if it hadn't been you I was chasing after?”

 

She scrutinized him closely, boring her green eyes into his blue ones, and nodded slowly. “Actually, yes.”

 

Hook averted his eyes and looked down at his hand that was still playing with the fork, showing that adorable mix of embarrassment and pleasure he always displayed when someone addressed him as being one of the good guys.

 

"Weren't you always the one to tell me I should stop pretending I'm somebody else?" she reminded him softly.

 

He shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat, tilting his head and scratching behind his ear, still avoiding her eyes. "But I _am_ still a pirate," he declared and finally looked at her with a playful grin before he added: "And a scoundrel."

 

Emma smiled and mentally shook her head. He'd done it again – successfully navigated out of the shoals of being made a hero. Well, she'd travelled a long road herself, from lost girl, jailbird and disillusioned loner to be a mother, a daughter, the Savior and now a lover; to sail the ship from the dark waters of Neverland and a three hundred years' restless and ruthless quest for revenge into being the savior of the day on occasion was probably just as hard, even for a hell of a captain like the one sitting opposite her. It dawned on her that Hook, much like herself, had his own amount of embracing new sides of himself to do. Letting go of something that has defined you for the best part of your life – and his life had been _long_ – wasn't easy. She made a secret vow to help him through that, just as he'd helped her to accept who _she_ really was and where she belonged. Still, that didn't mean he had to let go of the scoundrel side completely.

 

"Yeah... and I'm glad about that," she told him. His inquiring eyebrow shot up, and Princess Leia just couldn't resist adding with a smile: "I need more scoundrels in my life."

 

Hook's jaw dropped. " _More?!_ ” he replied sharply. “What in blazes is that supposed to mean?"

 

She laughed. "It's just a saying, don't worry.” She raised her hands in a soothing gesture. “One day you'll understand."

 

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "You should know that I don't share well," he growled.

 

She leaned a little forward. "Just to be clear – I don't share _at all_."

 

That display of possessiveness obviously pacified him immediately, because he visibly relaxed again and flashed one of his heart-stopping grins her way, showing off his perfect teeth. "You have nothing to fear, Swan," he drawled.

 

"Good." She felt a flirtatious smile curve her lips; a little unfamiliar yet, but nevertheless it was a wonderful feeling. "Anyway, my point was – I like the pirate part in you."

 

Suddenly, their stares locked, and electricity filled the air between them. It took Emma by surprise how quickly the atmosphere had changed; almost out of the blue, it was thickly filled with sexual tension that had risen to the open after it’d been bubbling underneath the surface for the whole afternoon. Hook's hand was resting on the table beside his plate, and the restless way his ringed fingers kept moving and fidgeting all the time subtly changed as he started to rub the tips of his thumb and middle finger together in a slow, circular motion – highly distracting. Now he leaned forward, tilted his head slightly, and Emma thought: _do it already!_

 

And there it was, the infamous, suggestive twitch of his eyebrows when he replied in a very low voice: "You like a part of _this_ pirate...” – she just _knew_ he was up to something wicked when he popped the 't', and she was right, because he added: “... _in_ _you_."

 

Emma continued to stare at him, her mouth literally hanging open, while a bolt of lightning shot through her chest right through her whole body and hit her directly where it hurt. She swallowed twice; the temperature seemed to have risen quite a few degrees, and her throat was bone dry. Other parts of her were anything _but_. "Indeed, I do," she managed in a breathless voice.

 

Hook shifted on his bench and shuffled his feet, and she just _knew_ he was spreading his legs under the table. When she thought about the most likely reason for that, her inner walls clenched. His illegally gorgeous mouth curved into a predatory grin, and he pushed his plate aside with his hook. "I think I'm done with this," he said in a hoarse voice, without taking his eyes off of hers. "Care for... dessert?" He rolled his tongue through his mouth, its tip just so visible behind his teeth, and added: "Upstairs?"

 

Instead of answering him, Emma raised her right hand and waved hectically in the direction of the counter. "Ruby," she called, suddenly a little short of breath, "bill." Then she shook her head to bring herself back to reality again, turned around and saw Ruby approaching already. "Please," she added a little sheepishly.

 

When she looked at Hook again, she saw that his grin had turned into the lewdest version she’d ever seen grace his face. A wave of heat washed over her.

 

Ruby threw them an amused glance when she brought the bill and wished them a pointed _"good night"_ with a twinkle in her eyes worthy of any wolf. Hook, however, didn't seem to notice because he barely paid attention to anything – or anybody – else than Emma. He was completely fascinated by her face and body language: the way she carelessly, _hastily_ stuffed her purse back into her satchel; the restless way her eyes were darting from Ruby to her own hands, to his face and to the depths of the room; and when Ruby had finally turned around and walked away, the impatient way she slid to the edge of the bench to get out from their nook. He felt the same way, of course. He couldn't wait to escape this room full of observers to the privacy of his own room, where he longed to finally pull her into his arms, entangle his hand in her hair, bury his face in her neck, bury _himself_ in her. Only an attentive onlooker, however, would have noticed anything about that hormonal inner uproar, as it was betrayed only by the subtle change in the way his fingers played and fidgeted on the table and by the increasing frequency of his tongue darting out and moistening his lips.

 

His Swan, on the other hand – she looked as tense as a bowstring ready to snap any moment, and she wasn't good at hiding it. He smiled to himself when she threw him an urging _"what are you waiting for?"_ look because he hadn't moved yet, whereas she was already on her feet, impatiently tapping on the floor with one of her dangerous looking shoes. Hook knew that _he_ was the cause for her adorable impatience, and that knowledge was almost too much to handle.

 

Without any further delay, he got up from the bench, definitely relieved to be able to hide his own _impatience_ behind his coat. He waited for the tiniest moment, leaving it up to her which way she would take: the inconspicuous one through the front door, only to sneak back in again through the side entrance, or the direct route through the back exit, leading to the guest rooms, risking that someone might notice it and put two and two together. He secretly hoped for the second option, although he almost didn't dare to.

 

Emma didn't hesitate for one second before she turned on her heels and headed straight for the back exit, not even bothering to put on her black trench, only after throwing him another impatient glance. He smiled to himself, absolutely thrilled that she didn't show any sign whatsoever of feeling uncomfortable about being seen with him; a small part of him had been afraid she might. He followed after her, perhaps giving away a bit of his own impatience after all.

 

 

 


	6. Lots Of Little Hugs

 

_ **Chapter 6:** _

 

_**Lots Of Little Hugs** _

 

When Emma saw that Hook was finally following her, she left the diner through its back entrance and turned toward the stairs, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dimly lit corridor. Although she almost felt the urge to run, she walked up the flight of stairs leading to his room with a stubborn sort of deliberateness, slightly annoyed that he hadn't shown really _that_ much impatience and that she, on the other hand, had probably given away far too much. In fact, she felt mortified, thinking she'd almost stuttered when asking Ruby for the bill. Some of her ire faded, though, as she heard his boot heels following her closely up the narrow staircase.

 

When she reached the door to his room, she turned to face him but didn’t meet his eyes, trying to keep her level of anticipation from showing. “Do you have the...”

 

 _...key,_ she wanted to say, but never got to finish her sentence, because the moment she faced him, his hot, demanding lips were already on her mouth, taking her completely by surprise. Out of the blue, she found herself pinned against the wall of the corridor beside the door, wrapped in a tight, breathtaking embrace. _Looks like he isn't that patient after all,_ she thought before literally all her lights went out, and she was just guided by raw, primal instincts. The only sounds that could be heard were their heavy breathing and the dry rustle of his coat's long folds as she grasped its lapels, her purse and coat dangling from her arm, trying to steady herself. Although she was trapped between Hook's strong body and the wall, she still had the strange sensation that she would sink to the floor if she didn't hold herself up somehow.

 

Clinging to his coat, she returned his feverish kiss with an equal amount of hunger – a hunger she had been suppressing the entire day. This kiss was a role-reversal of their kiss in Neverland; only this time, he was the aggressor, claiming _all_ of her, not just her mouth, with fierce determination. His hooked arm went around her waist, the rigid metal pressing on the small of her back, pulling her lower body firmly into his. And now, when he relentlessly ground his hips into hers, she could clearly feel how _not patient_ he really was, and that made her feel even weaker. Her shoulders were pressed against the wall, and his thumb and index finger held both sides of her jaw while the other three fingers were spread over the left side of her throat. It was like he wanted to devour her, and she knew he'd suppressed his desire throughout the day as much as she had.

 

After what seemed an eternity, he pulled back, gasping for breath, and instinctively her lips followed his, trying to claim him back.

 

“Swan,” he growled low in his throat and ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, “inside...” Alright, so he wasn't really capable of forming coherent phrases either, good.

 

As she nodded, his hand let go of her face, and he fished hastily in his pocket for the key. This time, unlike the night before, he managed to unlock the door in record time, his hooked arm still wrapped around her waist. Emma had no intention whatsoever of loosening her grasp on his lapels, and they stumbled more than walked into the room.

 

Hook felt a little guilty for losing control and shamelessly assailing her outside the privacy of his room where somebody could have seen them; that wasn't exactly the good form he believed in, but he'd been literally overwhelmed by the sight of her walking up the stairs, swaying her hips in that tight, short skirt. Modern day clothes were still a mystery to him; the ladies in this realm tended very much to bundle up to the chin with voluminous scarves and high-necked tops, and he admitted that he did miss seeing a nice saucy corset every once in a while – but they obviously liked to show off their legs and derrières in tight pants and skirts that barely covered them. He surely wasn't complaining about _that_. Still, he didn't want his Swan to think that he normally wasn't able to control himself.

 

But somehow, she didn't really seem to mind, given by the way she was still hanging onto the lapels of his coat, her face barely inches from his, her eyes glittering with the same lust burning through his veins, pupils dilated and fixed on his mouth and her lips slightly parted. He threw the keys on the chair beside the door and they fell to the floor with a clattering sound. She let her purse and her trench carelessly drop right beside them.

 

“Swan, I must apologize...” he started, but was abruptly cut off as Emma gave him an unexpected push onto the chest which made him stumble backwards against the door.

 

“Don't,” she whispered breathlessly against his lips before she kissed him again, leaning the whole length of her body into his, her soft contours molding perfectly into his hard ones. If he was already struggling to control his impatience before, _she_ was completely losing control of hers now – greedily devouring him with all she had, her lips, tongue and teeth taking possession of his mouth in a wild and frenzied way that made his head spin. She didn't take the time to undo the clasps of his vest this time, but her fingers felt for the few visible buttons of his shirt and hastily opened them. Her fingertips brushed over his skin like the wings of a butterfly and her nails grazed through his abundant chest hair, causing him to moan against her mouth.

 

“I missed you,” she panted, “I've been wanting to do this all day...” And she almost lunged forward, pressing her burning mouth against his madly throbbing jugular vein, nipping, licking and kissing her way down from his collarbone along his chest where she buried her face for a moment between his pecs, eyes closed, smiling against his skin, and deeply inhaling his intoxicating scent that was particularly intense on that special spot on his sternum, directly above his heart.

 

“Don't hold back by any means...” he managed in a husky voice while her mouth traveled all the way up again, sucking his right earlobe between her lips, his earring making a clicking sound against her teeth. His head was thrown back in momentary surrender, resting against the wood of the door, and he just allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of his Swan passionately but nonetheless very softly kissing her way back to his mouth along his scruffy jaw. Before she reached his lips again, he felt her hands wander down over the leather front of his vest, but again, she wasn't bothering with the metal clasps – her fingers had another destination.

 

Hook heard a sharp intake of breath when he felt her fingers pull on the leather laces of his pants and realized that it was he himself who had made that noise. Somehow, this time Emma's instincts seemed to lead her right, because he felt the – once again uncomfortable – restraints of his pants yield as soon as she'd managed to loosen the laces. _Bloody hell,_ he thought, _the lass is wasting no time._

 

“I need you, Killian,” she breathed against his mouth while her hands were relentlessly tugging at his pants, “I need you to take me...”

 

The choice of her words and the urge in her voice almost drove him insane, and he knew it was time to take over the lead again. He put his hand and his hook at her hips, grabbing her firmly, and in one swift move turned them both around, like they were dancing some elaborate quadrille, _her_ back pushed against the door now. The sudden move had her gasp in pleased surprise, and while her hands were still fumbling at the slowly descending waist of his pants, her back arched forward automatically.

 

He ran his hook from her right hip up to her shoulder and touched the cool metal carefully to her face, running it slowly along her jaw line to the tip of her chin, tilting her face up a little. Her green eyes were sparkling with eager anticipation and her lips slightly parted, their corners curved into a sultry smile. He brought his mouth close to hers and brushed his lips just so over hers, barely touching them, and purred: “If the lady insists...”

 

It was Emma's turn to gasp now as he let the sharp tip of his metal attachment wander down her throat to the first button of her blouse. Her wide-eyed gaze followed, and when the tip of the hook disappeared underneath the fabric, she looked up into his eyes again. She read the question there and nodded, and with a brusque downward move of his hook, he opened the blouse. Surprisingly, the delicate fabric wasn't torn, but every single button sprang away and landed on the wooden floor with a soft clicking sound.

 

Hook leaned forward to kiss her, not just tease but _really_ kiss her this time, his hand traveling up over her left side, causing her bare skin to break out into goose bumps, cupping the side of her left breast, his thumb stroking over the erect peak through the lacy material of her mysterious bodice. At the same time, his hook went behind her back again, pulling her lower half close into him, grinding his hips into hers, making her feel the amount of his own unmistakable arousal. She started to make incoherent, whimpering sounds deep in her throat.

 

Keeping his demanding mouth affixed to hers, Hook reached down and slipped the curve of his lethal metal attachment under the hem of her skirt on the right while his fingers did the same on the left. With almost devilish delight at the way her eyes widened, he hiked the garment up until it was crumpled around her hips. He kissed his way from her mouth to the side of her throat while his hand wandered upward along the inside of her thigh. His searching fingers couldn't wait to reach the edge of her hosiery where they would touch her creamy flesh... but somehow, that point didn't come, and he thought _damn, these stockings are really high!_ Then, suddenly, he heard Emma sigh when his hand reached the place where her thighs were joined – and where he should have felt silk and lace covering her most intimate spot. But all he felt was the elastic material of those damned stockings or pants, or whatever they were.

 

Hook froze in mid-movement. “What in blazes is this?” he growled, and Emma couldn't help but chuckle softly, despite her hot and bothered state.

 

“It’s called pantyhose,” she whispered a little breathlessly, “it is...”

 

“It _was_ ,” he replied almost gruffly, and the irritating layer of fabric was gone with a tearing sound, not standing a chance against his strong fingers paired with the sharp tip of the hook. As a reaction, Emma drew in a sharp breath and let out a shaky sigh.

 

Finally, his searching fingers landed on soft, warm flesh and furthermore on lace-trimmed silk. He noticed with a bit of admiration that the sheer material was damp already, the rich evidence of her arousal seeping through; her most intimate spot emanating an incredible heat. In a possessive gesture, he cupped her pubic mound firmly with the entire palm of his hand, putting the sweetest pressure on her core where she ached for him the most, grazing his ringed thumb over the delicate skin of her groin. She whimpered and the sound was like lightning to his own lust. “Oh, Emma,” he rasped into her ear, “so ready for me...”

 

She arched her back even more, pushing against his warm hand in an almost desperate attempt to intensify the contact. “I've been ready all day,” she panted, “please... don't make me wait...”

 

Almost as if they had a will of their own, her legs spread wider and her hips rolled against his, and there was no other way to get rid of the last barrier between their bodies than to use his hook again. Her panties surrendered with only the barest protest, tearing like tissue paper as he ripped them apart; this time, a moan that came from deep within her chest rewarded him. His own pants had – with her help – descended low enough by now to release his own aching flesh, and there was no point in waiting any longer. The hook reached for Emma's right leg and lifted it up, placing it firmly around his waist. She surprised him by eagerly wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and literally jumping him, enclosing his middle with her other leg, too, so that she was completely hanging onto his body now, steadied only by the wood of the door at her back and his strong arms encircling her tightly with his hand and hook supporting her derriere. Her face was flushed with her arousal and carried a wonderful carefree, happy and ecstatic smile that simply made him soar. The sudden weight made him stumble a little, but the door backed her up, and out of nowhere, a thought flew through his mind: _I've carried rum barrels heavier than you..._

 

The hot, impatient tip of his erection found her slick entrance easily, but he invaded her achingly slowly… thoroughly, inch by inch, reveling in her moans, until he felt her fingers pull his hair almost painfully. “I said don't make me wait,” she breathed into his ear; “enough with the teasing.”

 

He focused on her face and saw so much hunger, passion and, yes, _love_ there – and part of him still couldn't believe that this was all for _him_ , and _only_ for him. Suddenly, he understood that he hadn't spent the last three hundred years seeking his vengeance; he'd spent them waiting for this woman. And to hold her in his arms now, close to his heart and body and soul, to see all the adoration and devotion she reciprocated, made every single year of the restlessness, loneliness and pain worth it. Not one moment had been wasted – they'd all been destined to lead him exactly where he was now, and everything had fallen into place.

 

"Killian?" Emma inquired softly, breathlessly, and he realized that he had completely stopped moving.

 

He smiled and nodded. "No teasing," he replied hoarsely and with one sharp, forceful push of his hips buried himself deeply inside her. Her eyes widened and she gasped, entangling her fingers even more in his hair, while he finally started to move steadily and fast, in and out, pinning her firmer to the door with each thrust. She had her ankles crossed behind his back and used her own muscles to adjust to his rhythm, pushing forward every time he did, seeking to intensify the contact with every move. Their pace was wild and frenzied now, their gasps grew louder, and she let out a little cry every time he pushed into her.

 

Her head was light and dizzy, and it felt almost like she was drunk, like the room was spinning around and around. Of course, the fact that her feet didn't touch the ground added to that incredible elated feeling. She faintly noticed the hard wood of the door pressing into her back, but it didn't bother her at all. The dominating feeling was the overwhelming sensation of pure bliss she hadn't experienced before in her life, until Killian Jones had made love to her for the first time the previous night – and that was _exactly_ what he was doing now. In spite of the fact that they were both almost fully clothed – hell, he was even still wearing his _coat!_ – , in spite of the fact that he'd torn her pantyhose to pieces and ripped off her underwear and had pinned her heatedly and forcefully against a door, relentlessly pounding into her... in spite of all that, they were really and truly _making love_. She closed her eyes and once more surrendered completely to the sensation.

 

When Hook felt her starting to tremble around him, he lunged forward and brought his mouth onto hers, muffling her cry with a deep kiss, before his body went all rigid when he tumbled into his own orgasm.

 

For a few moments, they stood still as they were, leaned against the door. Emma's arms and legs were still wrapped tightly around him, his arms still carrying her weight, until he felt the strained muscles of his own thighs vibrate in protest. She noticed his slight shifting and disentangled her feet behind his back, slowly bringing them back to the floor again. He steadied himself with his hand against the door, and she held on to his lapels, not so sure of her own legs yet. Finally, he brushed her temple with his lips, reached down and tugged at the hem of her skirt until it slid down again to cover her hips, before he loosely pulled up his pants just enough to render them decent again. The little gesture, unnecessary as it was, was unspeakably endearing, and Emma heard his voice in her head: _I'm always a gentleman..._

 

Their eyes met and they both grinned in mutual understanding. He used his hook to fidget with her hair and teased: “Well, that was a little unexpected...”

 

She slapped his shoulder. “Unexpected?!” she exclaimed in fake indignation. “You came at me like a _pirate_!”

 

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in mockery. “Really, Swan?” he drawled. “You are trying to declare _me_ the miscreant now?”

 

Emma spread her arms, dramatically showing off her buttonless blouse, then pointed down to her shredded pantyhose. “Well, what do I look like?”

 

He smirked and motioned his hand at her, rolling his wicked tongue through his mouth. “Well, if you ask me – you look like a wanton wench who has just been thoroughly...”

 

“Shut up!” she snapped, but her eyes were sparkling with tease. “I look like I fell into the hands of a _pirate!_ ”

 

“ _Hand_ , darling,” he corrected and waved his fingers like he was playing a flute, “and hook.” He raised said attachment and waved it, too. Then he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the cloak hanger in the corner.

 

She stepped out of her pumps. “As I said, you'd look for any excuse to use that thing.” Under Hook's shameless, appreciative stare she started to peel off the remnants of her pantyhose from her legs.

 

“Which _thing?_ ” he asked suggestively, and when she shot him a fiery glance he raised his hook and tilted his head, pulling his puppy face. “This one? My sincere apologies, lass, but may I remind you that you asked for it?” His mouth curved into his trademark grin while he plucked imaginary lint off of the hook's sharp tip. “Some would even say... _begged_.”

 

Hook unbuckled his belt, threw it on the chair and started to unfasten the clasps of his vest, not taking his burning eyes off of her for a second. When he'd undone the last clasp and shrugged the vest off, it reminded Emma very much of the smug posture his past self had assumed in that tavern back in the Enchanted Forest. Her memory misted across her thoughts, seeing Captain Hook rise from the bench, spread his arms, puff out his chest in that damned red vest and push his hips slightly forward. His nonchalant voice rang in her ears: _Come back with me for a nightcap, or shall I find someone else?_ The underlying message had been just as clear as if he'd added it out loud: _...but take a good look at what you're missing out on._ That smug bastard. Now he was doing a similar thing – showing off. He was hot as the hinges of hell, and he damn well knew it.

 

Emma withstood his stare, threw him the best imitation of her well-perfected _I'm-so-done-with-your-shit-_ glance and told him: “You're a little too smug for my taste.” And with an elegant move of her wrist and wave of her hand, his hook was gone, leaving only the empty leather sheath peeking out of the loose sleeve of his back linen shirt. He gasped in surprise, and with an adorably cheeky little grin she showed him the gleaming metal of the hook that had magically appeared in her own right hand.

 

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he growled, but the amusement in his voice was clearly detectable. “I already told you it's bad form to tamper with a man's hook.” He raised his eyebrows. “Isn't it sufficient that you already tamper with my...” – quickly, his tongue darted out to moisten his lips – “...other attachment?” He pointedly looked down at his groin, and when her gaze automatically followed his, she saw that his pants, unlaced as they were, didn't look like they would stay up much longer. _Dangerous_. _Promising_. He took a step forward and stretched out his hand. “Now be a good lass and give that back,” he demanded.

 

She grinned and shook her head. “No,” she replied almost triumphantly.

 

Hook was absolutely thrilled by her attitude – not because what she was doing would sure as hell lead up to another amorous game; that was just an additional bonus. But the way she easily and naturally embraced her magic after fighting against it for so long, and now even used it in a playful way to make fun of him, simply blew him off of his feet. He huffed a little. “You're not being very mannerly, love,” he told her. “Why are you doing this?”

 

Emma retreated a step, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Because I _can_.”

 

Oh, she was being _wicked_ now. This was getting better and better by the minute. He scratched behind his ear, sighed in a feigned disapproving way and shook his head, clicking his tongue. “You don't want to challenge me, Swan,” he warned.

 

Her gaze was drawn to his face, and she was fascinated by the dangerous twinkle in his eyes and that dark promise of forbidden delights lurking in the upturned corners of his sinful mouth. She felt a wave of heat wash over her and raised her chin. “Looks like I just did, _pirate._ ”

 

She deliberately turned the hook around in both her hands, running her fingertips over the cool metal, almost caressing it. Without being aware of it, Emma licked her lips. She was surprised how heavy the hook was and amazed how smooth its polished surface felt despite its lethal potential, almost like silk; suddenly, she had to swallow a lump in her throat. She'd be damned if that infamous hook didn't remind her of his... _other_ attachment. She blushed at the thought and quickly looked up at Hook again. He was quietly watching her with a devilish, _knowing_ expression. Had he read on her face what she’d been thinking? _Of course. Open book._ She blushed a little more, but smiled.

 

“If you want it back,” she said in a sultry tone, carefully touching her right thumb to the sharp tip of the hook, “you'll have to come and get it.”

 

Hook tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “You were fairly warned.” He started to stride towards her.

 

Emma took a few step backwards, but her little game was ended before it had begun because she didn't get far; she gasped in surprise when the back of her thighs thumped against a rigid edge and quickly looked over her shoulder. The small table beside the door had blocked her. When she turned around again, her pirate's twitching eyebrows and blue eyes were less than a foot away from hers. Her stomach started to flutter again.

 

“Trapped, are we?” he asked nonchalantly and cocked his head in his typical way. “And now? Are you going to use magic again or do you...” – he paused a moment to roll his tongue through his mouth – “... _yield_?”

 

“Neither,” she replied and grinned. “For now, I just let you win.” She handed him the hook, and he took it with a satisfied nod.

 

"Very prudent move, love," he drawled and put the gleaming metal into its place, twisting it into the right position, and somehow Emma couldn't take her eyes off of his face. When the hook made the sharp clicking sound indicating that it was fixed, he bore his shining eyes into hers again and grinned; it was an almost diabolic, yet infectious grin, accompanied by a fierce gleam in his eyes. She held her breath without being aware of it.

 

"And now?" she reciprocated his question in a deliberately casual tone, sounding a little breathless nonetheless. "What are you going to do?" Her eyes sparkled with the unspoken challenge.

 

Hook winked wickedly and leaned a little forward with his head bent to the side, whispering in her ear: "Why, my little siren, I _hooked_ you, and now I'm going to reel you in."

 

And with that, he suddenly dove down in a swift move and caught her firmly around her thighs, lifting her up. Emma let out a surprised little cry when she lost her balance and was thrown over his shoulder. " _Hook!_ What are you doing?!"

 

He carried her over to the bed like a sack of potatoes and, _God help him_ , Emma _tough-lass_ Swan squealed and giggled along with feigned protest; it was the most wonderful sound he’d heard in centuries, and he happily laughed along with her. They tumbled down on the bed together with him landing atop her, the mattress screeching in protest at the sudden weight.

 

"You are _incredible_!" she gasped and laughed again.

 

"Aye, so I've been told," he commented smoothly and smiled down at her, shaking his head with a hint of incredulity before he added: "That's even better than your smile."

 

"What, that you finally got me where you wanted me?" She ran a playful finger along his scruffy jaw. "In your bed, on my back?"

 

He shook his head with a serious, quiet little smile. "I meant your laughter. I've never heard it before." For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still as his words hung in the air between them and their meaning sank in. Emma looked completely dumbfounded, taken aback by his sincere display of affection – by his reveling in her _laughter_. And the way he pronounced that word did really funny things to her stomach. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but it seemed like her mind was blank all of a sudden.

 

Hook noticed, of course; he knew what was up with her. His Swan still had to get used to receiving compliments like that one – stripped bare of any superficial overtones and flippancy – to be loved simply for who she was. Quickly, to lighten the moment, he smirked and added with deliberate lewdness in his voice: "I must say, having you in my bed is a nice additional guerdon.” His tongue quickly darted over his bottom lip. “Whether it's on your back or on top of me isn't really of further importance."

 

Emma looked up at him with a very small, very touched smile and swallowed, entirely aware of the meaning of his words. He was right, _again_ ; she couldn't remember when she'd laughed out loud for the last time either, especially in such a carefree, child like manner, like nothing in the world mattered but that one, precious moment. And it had taken a sinister, three hundred year-old soul of a pirate to teach her to laugh again. His damn innuendos included.

 

"It feels wonderful," she murmured.

 

His eyes twinkled with affection. "To be had in my bed?" he teased. "It would appear so."

 

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. He was indeed incredible. When she looked at him again, the earnest expression in his amazing eyes despite his flippant words took her breath away. "The laughter on my lips," she said. "I didn't even remember how good it feels.” She paused for a second and added: “You put it back."

 

Now it was Hook's turn to look dumbfounded; not only had she accepted his compliment – had proven that she indeed could _handle_ it – she had even felt safe enough to return it. He averted his eyes for a moment, smiled his embarrassed little _don't-make-a-fuss-over-it_ smile and tilted his head. "Had I known it was _that_ easy, I'd have carried you up that beanstalk like a sack of flour two years ago."

 

 _Always a joke at hand before it gets too serious, and always a precious little gem in the middle of his flippant talk._ Emma knew she could count on him in every situation. She grabbed him by the front of his unbuttoned shirt and simply demanded: "Kiss me, pirate."

 

Hook chuckled in his throaty way, absolutely thrilled by her carefree attitude. He combed his hand through her slightly disheveled blonde waves and then did exactly what she asked. The kiss was intoxicating; the mix of passion and tenderness, of the velvety softness of his lips and the demanding, almost _commanding_ urge of his tongue was enough to make her head spin and all her senses tingle.

 

His heavy chain fell out of the folds of his shirt, the huge silver dagger and the skull landing right between her breasts with a clattering sound. It added to the sensation that sizzled whenever their bare bodies came into contact – skin on skin, limbs entwined, sweat mingling – truly molded into one being so that no one would have been able to tell where one body ended and the other began.

 

Emma couldn't wait for that sensation, to feel his warm smooth skin under her hands again. She tugged at the hem of his shirt and he grasped her meaning without any further explanation. Very reluctantly, he broke the kiss, sat up for a moment and pulled the shirt over his head. While he was at it, he got rid of his boots, too; the pants he kept on for the moment. She smiled and grasped his broad shoulders, pulling him down again, but Hook rolled over and turned them around in a swift move so that she landed on top of him, her soft hair falling down, enclosing their faces like a silky curtain. She felt his warm hand on her back between her shoulder blades, his fingers playing over the clasp of her bra.

 

“Teach me how to undo that bodice, love,” he demanded and raised his head to nuzzle his face into the nook of her throat, his hooked arm resting lightly at her right hip. “I can't feel any laces,” he murmured against her skin, quickly grazing his teeth there.

 

Emma shivered against him for a moment and grinned. “Oh, you're gonna like this,” she predicted and reached with her right hand behind her back, putting it on his. “It's fastened with very tiny hooks...”

 

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Why, a bodice to my liking,” he commented and fidgeted with the clasp.

 

She rolled her eyes at him and warned: “I'm just afraid it might be a little difficult to undo it with only one...”

 

With a little snap, the three tiny hooks were released, and her breasts fell forward to rest on his chest, bringing with them the shoulder straps of the garment. She stared at him with an open-mouthed expression while he smirked, hooked his hook into one of the loosened straps and pulled the bra slowly away until they were completely skin to skin, her sensitive peaks tickled softly by his chest hair. “You were saying?” he purred.

 

Emma's eyes, still incredulous, followed his gleaming hook from which her white lacy bra was now dangling until he let it drop to the floor. She looked back at him. “Really?!”

 

He took a strand of her hair and let it run through his ringed fingers. His eyebrows twitched with teasing when he tilted his head in a shrug and just said: “ _Pirate._ ” Of course, he popped the 't'. She rolled her eyes again, and he added: “Doing away with shackles and bodices are two of the most indispensable qualities required for a pirate's life, love.” The teasing sparkle in his eyes was challenging her.

 

“Funny,” she replied a little grumpily and caught his wrist with her own hand. She had no interest in hearing how many bodices he’d done away with during the past three hundred years and was annoyed at herself for that absurd feeling of jealousy. “Let's see how you manage to handle a zipper.” She pulled his caressing hand a bit roughly away from her hair and put it to her waist. Her short skirt had hiked up again around her hips.

 

Hook frowned. “Come again?” he asked in his clueless voice. She grinned and guided his fingers, and it was no surprise to her that he seemed to figure that one out pretty fast, too. Obviously, that man was a natural. With a triumphant smile, he tugged her skirt down inch by inch, leaving her completely naked now, as her panties lay already shredded on the floor. “Those modern garments do have their benefits,” he commented and rolled his tongue through his mouth, “although I don't understand what's wrong with laces.”

 

Emma rolled off of him and laughed, placing her right hand on his flat abdomen right below his bellybutton. “Nothing's wrong with laces,” she purred and let her fingers sneak down to his already half-unlaced pants. “In fact, they’re definitely growing on me.” She tugged at the laces, loosening them a little more, wickedly and unnecessarily playing over his crotch in the process; it was already showing signs of life again, which she noticed with satisfaction.

 

“The laces are _not_ what is growing, love,” he replied dryly – which made her chuckle – and, with her help, got rid of the pants rather quickly.

 

“I can see that,” she whispered and put her right hand where he longed to feel it, leaning into him for a long kiss. His hand went into her hair, combing through her long locks like he loved to do, messing them up. He reached out for her with his hooked arm, too; obviously with the intention to pull her on top of him again, but she gently pushed his hook away, brushing her fingers almost tenderly over the metal while doing so. He let it rest against her shoulder and protested faintly when she broke the kiss, lifting his head from the pillow, trying to catch her lips again with his.

 

“Easy, pirate,” Emma chuckled and placed a very gentle bite on his chin which nevertheless had him gasp in surprise. Then she ran her lips across his throat, his scruff grazing her sensitive skin, and lingered for a few moments on his Adam's apple, playfully nipping there. Involuntarily, his fingers tightened their grasp and pressed into her scalp. She smiled against his skin when she felt him swallow hard and continued her journey over the side of his neck until she reached his collarbone. His skin was particularly soft and tender there. She caressed it with the tip of her nose and brushed a kiss on the little notch where his collarbones met. With a rough sigh, actually a quite primal sound, he let his head fall back on the pillow again.

 

While she buried her face in his chest, deeply inhaling his natural scent mingled with that faint trace of leather she’d come to associate with him, her hand continued to caress him, causing him to groan deeper in his throat. She enjoyed that almost guttural sound and the sensation of his hardness in the palm of her hand, it felt like satin-wrapped steel. The smooth, silky skin was warm, almost feverishly hot, and Emma couldn't get enough of touching it, feeling it, exploring it, _handling it_ – something she hadn't had the chance to do so far. Tentatively, she wrapped her fingers closer around him, tightening her hold with determination; Hook's sharp intake of breath and the slight, involuntary upwards twitch of his hips showed her that _he_ wasn't the only one who could play _her_ body like an instrument. She started to move her hand slowly up and down over his whole length.

 

“Swan...” he murmured, his voice thick with urgency.

 

“Shhhh,” she shushed him, “please, let me.” And she kissed her way down his sternum, over his flat stomach, following his treasure trail, that fine line of silky black hair leading down from his bellybutton over his pubic bone to the greater prize.

 

“God, Emma,” he moaned in a hoarse voice and lifted his left arm over his head, hooking the sharp metal over the edge of the headboard to ensure that he wouldn't make any involuntary moves with his dangerous attachment anywhere near her head. His ringed fingers were still entangled in her hair, and his blood was rushing like bumpy seas and breaking billows in his ears while that siren replaced her hand with her soft, hot mouth. He couldn't believe that this was actually happening; that Emma Swan had let her walls down to such a degree that she was initiating probably the most intimate caress a woman could regale a man with. He’d fantasized about this, dreamed of it many a time in the past, but he would never have expected those dreams to come true so soon, so early. This woman, _his_ woman never ceased to amaze him, and she was doing things to him, making him feel things he would never have dared to dream of.

 

While her unspeakably tender, yet wicked lips closed firmly around him – slowly gliding down and taking him in deeply – her hands unleashed a different type of torturous contradiction; her left hand rested innocently on his forearm, fingertips lightly caressing his skin, but her right hand brazenly cupped his balls, making it nearly impossible for him to stay still. When she started to use her tongue on him in soft, lazy strokes amidst the sucking, nibbling and teasing, he couldn't help but respond to her. His hips seemed to have a will of their own. But it wasn't before he heard the tiny sighs she was making deep in her throat while showering him with her ministrations that he knew he couldn't handle it any longer. She was moving faster now, exercising more pressure on him, and he had the overwhelming urge to feel her, _all_ of her. He tugged at her hair, only slightly at first, then a little firmer until her heavenly mouth finally released him.

 

She raised her head and almost frowned at him, her green eyes filled with doubt. “What?” she breathed.

 

He loosened his grasp on her hair and grabbed her shoulder instead, unhooking his hook from the headboard again and putting it to her other shoulder. “Come here, love,” he panted in his husky voice, pulling her up to him again. “Kiss me.”

 

Emma followed his pull and glided up along his body, but she was a little confused. Why had he interrupted her? Normally, she didn't care very much about pleasuring a man with her mouth, even if she wasn't disgusted by it either; mostly, when she'd done that in the past, she'd done it because it was simply part of the physical side of a relationship, whether it was a long-term one or just an affair. But this time, she hadn't thought about that at all, she'd just followed her instincts and gone with the flow. She'd done it because _she_ _’d_ felt the need to do it, because she’d wanted to savor him with _all_ her senses… to _taste_ him. She'd been surprised to find that giving that kind of pleasure could be an utterly sensual experience for her, too, when given to someone she really and truly loved. She'd hoped that feeling had transferred to him, which was why it confused her now that he'd stopped her from going all the way – which she’d definitely planned on doing. Maybe she wasn't as skilled as she'd thought?

 

But one glance into his unbelievable blue eyes was enough to show her that she didn't have any reasons to worry about that at all. He was looking at her with parted lips and some quiet kind of wonder in his eyes, and they were damn sure veiled with something rich and powerful – desire on the verge to explode. Suddenly, she felt confident again. With a truly bewitching smile, she hooked her right index and middle finger into his heavy silver chain and pulled him up from his prone position, bringing his face close to hers.

 

“What's wrong, Captain,” she whispered seductively. “Can't handle it?”

 

Hook stared at her with open-mouthed fascination, totally mesmerized by her temptress attitude. She let go of his chain and did that wicked thing with his hook again, running the back of her hand along the metal from the base to its tip, then stroking back from the tip to the base again with her open palm. The gesture was unspeakably sensual; no, more than that – it was a blatantly sexual move. Of course, he couldn't _feel_ anything she was doing to his hook, but it surely felt like she was doing it to his very flesh. _Siren_. But two could play this game, and his dice were always loaded.

 

He leaned in very closely so their noses were almost touching and purred back, “No, not only can I handle it, but I can even...” he paused for a moment to slowly run his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, “... _master_ it.”

 

Emma's eyes widened a little, the green depths swirling with eager anticipation and the thirst for more. He captured her mouth with his, kissing her with a fervor and urgency that pushed her from her half-sitting position down onto her back. He was leaning on his right elbow now. His left arm reached across her chest and his hook rested briefly on her right shoulder before he ran it slowly over her right breast, teasing its peak with the cold metal. A soft gasp escaped her; her back arched automatically and her nipple immediately responded to the touch in the most exquisite way. Hook grinned against her lips with devilish self-satisfaction.

 

“So...” he said almost casually, “you're a lass who takes delight in tampering with a man's hook?” He moved said attachment over her left breast, barely touching her skin this time, but nevertheless provoking the exact same reaction plus a sharp intake of breath and another arching of her back. He cocked his head and brought his lips to her ear. “What do you say about a man's hook tampering with _you_?” he purred.

 

Her mouth suddenly went so dry she could barely speak. “Wouldn't that be bad form?” she breathed.

 

He chuckled and moved the metal down over her flat stomach, letting it meander from side to side, making contact with her skin only every once in a while. By now, tiny goose pimples blossomed all over her body, telltale signs of her arousal. His tongue darted out and briefly flicked over her earlobe, causing her to moan and toss her head to the right, exposing the side of her throat to him in a silent plea for him to put his mouth there. But obviously, Hook didn't have the slightest intention of doing so.

 

Instead, he purred into her ear: “You tell me if it's bad or good, love...”

 

He let the hook crawl from her bellybutton along her hipbone, deliberately not going anywhere near where she ached for him the most. She was squirming now and obviously getting very impatient. If only he would at least _kiss_ her...

 

“Hook...” she urged; it sounded almost like a plea.

 

“Aye, that's me,” he replied in a smug, amused voice and ran the metal over the inside of her leg; when he approached her center though, he broke the skin contact again and noticed with delight how her thighs parted a little, seeking something… seeking _him._

 

“Killian, please...” It was little more than a gasp.

 

“Easy, Swan,” he mocked, mirroring her earlier teasing, barely able now though to hold back his own desire. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself for much longer; she had more than fueled his desire before.

 

Emma's hands grasped the sheet in despair and her back arched again. “Oh God,” she moaned, and it sounded almost like a sob. “Why are you doing this to me?”

 

Of course, she had walked right into that one. He smirked. “Why Swan, just because I _can_...”

 

She opened her eyes in an attempt to glare at him – which would’ve been much more impressive had her eyes not been _that_ openly shimmering with pure, primal need. “You!” she panted. “You're such a...”

 

With a sudden move, Hook rolled on top of her, pushing her legs further open with his knees in an almost rogue-ish, no, _pirate-ish_ demand for access that left no room for objection; not that she'd even thought of denying it to him.

 

“Enough with the tampering,” he declared in a rough voice and shut her mouth with a fierce kiss to which she responded with a little sigh that expressed as much desire as relief, and with her whole body bucking up to finally meet his.

 

There was no chance to do this slowly or gently, they were both way too heated up by the previous reciprocal teasing; the time for playing was over. With one deep push, he entered her completely, and Emma more than welcomed his invasion. She captured him immediately with her legs, placing her heels at the back of his thighs and running her nails down his back, leaving crimson red marks and urging him to go faster, deeper, like she couldn't get enough of him. And that was exactly it; she just _couldn't_ , and she didn't want to. Nothing was keeping her from demanding, from accepting, from _taking_ what she’d been wanting for so long and what he so freely and eagerly offered. And offer he did. With every forceful thrust, he gave her what she craved, and even more. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled his head down to her, holding him still for just one fraction of a second to pierce her eyes into his – just long enough for him to see the unbound lust, joyful abandon and love in her eyes – before she pulled his mouth down to hers for a rough, feverish kiss that muffled both their cries when they tumbled over the edge together.

 

It seemed to take half an eternity before either of them were able to breathe normally again, let alone move so much as an inch; they just stayed like that for a while, his forehead resting on hers, and both of their eyes closed until they opened them almost simultaneously. Emma realized she had her hands still entangled in Hook's hair and released him with a smile, not without stealing another kiss first, more tenderly this time. Of course, that one was gladly granted, too.

 

Then he slid out of her and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him in the process. She followed eagerly and curled up at his side, snuggling up as closely as possible, not minding that they were both still covered in sweat, his body hair as damp as her blonde locks; in fact, she loved it. It was their very own thing, and she loved everything about it – especially the smell of them together swirling in the air. For several minutes, neither of them spoke, and they were reveling in the feeling of just being there, together. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since they’d made love for the first time, and yet already it felt like they belonged just like that.

 

Emma had been almost happily dozing off when Hook asked: "Are you going to stay?"

 

She frowned, a little confused by his question. Did he still think she was contemplating going back to New York? Didn't he see that she could never leave now, even if she wanted to? Didn't he understand by now what he _meant_ to her? "I thought I made it clear that I'm staying,” she replied with slight irritation in her voice. “Henry and I belong here. Storybrooke is our home." She paused for a moment and propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him, anxiously searching for a trace of doubt in his eyes. Maybe she had to make herself more clear to him? She drew a deep breath. "You..." _...are my home._ She really wanted to add it.

 

"I meant tonight, Swan,” he interrupted with a smile so light it mostly just danced in his eyes, barely reaching the corners of his beautiful mouth. He took one of her locks that were splayed out on his chest, and let it play through his fingers. “Are you staying here with me tonight?"

 

For a second, she felt like an idiot. Of course he didn't doubt her. He knew she loved him, even if she hadn't said it aloud yet. So maybe she’d been clear enough, but still... she returned his smile. "If you'll have me?" she replied almost a little shyly, putting an unmistakable question mark at the end.

 

He looked up at her incredulously, his mouth gaping open, understanding dawning from what her words, her tone, really meant and how big of a step she'd taken here again. She could have easily said _"of course I'm staying"_ , because that was obviously what he wanted, but here she was almost _asking_ him to _let_ her stay – she, Emma Swan, lost girl, painfully used to rejection. Hook swallowed twice and had to avert his eyes for a tiny moment, feeling beyond touched by that further display of vulnerability and trust at the same time. When he looked back into her eyes, the open, loving and trustful expression he found there simply blew him away. She knew he wouldn't reject her, but at the same time she was telling him that he mattered, too – _don't hurt me,_ her eyes said, _I know you never would, but you should know you could._

 

And again, Hook didn't want the moment to get too emotionally loaded and decided to play it light before she might start feeling uncomfortable. He tugged playfully at the strand of her that was still laced between his fingers and pursed his lips into a grin.

 

"Oh, I shall gladly _have_ you over and over, love,” he purred, “as many ways and times you want, but I wouldn't want to put you in an awkward situation with your parents. They might assume you...” – he touched his ringed index finger briefly to her nose – “... and I..."

 

Emma smiled and shook her head, perfectly aware of what he was doing, but playing along. "Oh, I'm sure they do, they are not stupid,” she replied with a shrug. “But you saw David today. Not only didn't he use his gun on you, he practically acted like he was your wing man." She rolled her eyes when she remembered how her father had acted around her and her presumable pirate boyfriend that afternoon.

 

Hook chuckled. "Yes, I think I might be winning him over, indeed,” he commented with a touch of self-satisfaction in his deep voice, then he tilted his head a little. “Alas... I'm not so sure yet about your mother."

 

Emma recalled the talk she'd had with Mary Margaret that morning. Her mother had surprised even her, but she decided to keep it to herself a little longer that the fierce Snow White had more than just made her peace with her daughter's unorthodox choice. "Don't worry about her,” she told him. “You saw how she treated my father in the beginning.” She grinned fondly and playfully nudged him. “The louder she barks at you, the more she likes you."

 

He smirked. "Like mother, like daughter..." he winked and licked his lips.

 

She rolled her eyes again. "How many times are you planning to use that line?" she growled.

 

He waved his hand through the air. "Why, it's a compliment, Swan,” he pointed out. “I like strong women, and your mother is by God one of the toughest lasses I've ever met."

 

She tilted her head in disbelief. "You really like her, don't you?" she ascertained incredulously.

 

"Aye, and even more so since I've been privy to her most impressive bandit ways,” he explained with a grin and added: “Thanks to that time portal we fell through."

 

Her gaze drifted away for a moment when she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that all these events had happened over the past few days. "Actually, _we_ didn't fall through the portal, _I_ did,” she said slowly. “You _jumped_." She swallowed when she remembered the feeling of despair and abandon the moment Hook's sleeve had been torn with that awful sound and she'd lost her hold on him and had been sucked into that gaping, swirling hole in the ground of that barn. Fortunately, that terrible feeling had lasted only for a second or so, because she hadn't even properly hit the ground before realizing that she was _not_ alone, that, of course, her ever-present shadow had followed her. She focused on him again and smiled. "Another occasion where you did not let me down."

 

“Yeah, well...” She was surprised to see that he averted his eyes, but not with his usual expression of embarrassment. There was a shadow flying over his handsome face. “I have a confession to make.”

 

She lifted herself up into a sitting position and turned to him. “What's that?”

 

Hook propped himself up on his left elbow and raised his hand to her hair, but then he let it sink again without allowing himself to touch it. He wanted to be honest with her, and maybe she wouldn't take this too well; hell, _he himself_ didn't take it too well. “If we hadn't fallen through the portal...” he began and paused to lick his lips, but it was a gesture of nervousness this time, “...if none of this had happened and I couldn't have convinced you to stay here instead of going back to New York...” his voice trailed off, his jaw clenched, and he looked away from her again, obviously at a loss for words, and that alone was extraordinary.

 

She bent forward, searching his gaze. “Killian?” she prompted softly.

 

Hearing his name from her lips brought him back to the present again. He focused on her, drew a deep breath and said: “I might have given up.”

 

He fell silent and just looked at her, searching her face for a reaction to his words – words that were some sort of abandonment, even if it hadn't actually happened. But the words alone sounded like a betrayal... he just hoped they wouldn't harm her trust in him. But Emma surprised him with a very fragile, very rueful smile and shook her head slowly, but with determination. “No...you wouldn't have,” she replied, and the utter conviction in her voice touched him beyond anything. “You wouldn't have given up on me. You never have.”

 

He returned her smile and reached out for her again, this time going all the way to the back of her head, pulling her down for a slow and tender kiss, grateful for her trust in his consistency. She responded eagerly to the kiss, but when he pulled back he was surprised to see her green eyes brimming with unshed tears.

 

“What is it, love?” he asked with concern in his eyes.

 

“Do you remember when we said goodbye at the town line of Storybrooke, before Pan's curse came?” she asked.

 

Hook's jaw tightened again as the memory of the pain he’d tried to hide in that moment – to make it easier for her to leave – stabbed him in the heart with all its nasty force. He was amazed how much it still hurt. “I could never fail to remember that.”

 

Emma nodded gravely. “When you said there wouldn't be a day that you wouldn't think of me... you know what hurt the most?” She looked at him openly, and he was almost shocked by the shadow of utter despair and hopelessness that was showing on her face when she recalled those moments. He didn't make a move or say a word; in fact, he barely breathed. She went on: “Not that I thought I might never see you again, but to know that I wouldn't even be able to _miss_ you... because I wouldn't remember you.” Her voice echoed in his head: _you don't have a home until you just miss it..._ It hit him like a ton of bricks that she had _wanted_ to miss him, even back then. That, perhaps unconsciously, she had regarded him as her home, even back then; something he would never have dared to hope, although her almost broken voice when she had replied _“Good.”_ could have told him otherwise. She shook her head angrily, a single tear rolling down her cheek now, her hands curling into fists. “That damn curse,” she said tonelessly, “was going to take even _that_ from me. Again, there was going to be nothing left but emptiness...” she drew a deep, shaky breath. “Not even the pain... of losing you,” she finally added.

 

Her final words woke him from his momentary paralysis, and he sat bolt upright beside her, reaching out for her with his left arm and pulling her into a close embrace, cupping the back of her head with his hand. She wrapped her arms tightly around his torso, clinging onto him so strongly that he thought she might break his ribs, and by the way her shoulders trembled he could tell she was very close to crying. Nobody had ever asked how it had been for _her_ to say goodbye to everybody except Henry. After he'd brought her back, she'd make such a big fuss over how good her life in New York had been, that in all his frustration about that he'd completely forgotten the desperate look and the tears in her eyes when they'd said goodbye – not even sharing as much as a hug. _Perhaps there's a man that you love in the life that you've lost..._

 

“I'm here now,” he murmured into her hair in a soothing voice, caressing the back of her head. “I'm not going anywhere. _Ever_.”

 

She closed her eyes and buried her face at the side of his neck where it fit so nicely, just letting him hold her and letting the pain and fear subside – simply washed away by his voice and his touch. Another layer of her shell quietly crumbled to pieces while all her agony faded away. “Promise?” she murmured in a thick voice, and she was twelve years old again: another first night in another new foster family, another silent prayer that this time, _this time_ it would be the right place, the right people. She'd come a long way since then, but now she _knew_ that this _was_ the right place. _Home_. She tightened her embrace a little more, holding onto the man who'd saved her in more ways than one.

 

But Hook loosened his hold on her to place his hand and his hook on her shoulders, pushing her gently away from him so that he could look into her eyes. They were still a little veiled by the pain, but also full of hope. He smiled and put his hand to her cheek, wiping the single tear away with his thumb. _“Promise.”_

 

Emma leaned her face into his palm and just looked at him, marveling for about the hundredth time that out of all the people in all the realms, someone like this man, a pirate and a scoundrel – or, _dashing rapscallion_ , as he preferred – could have become her solid rock and safe harbor. She knew there was more to him than that, and she also knew she wanted to find out more, so much more about him… about his earlier life. Not that it really mattered; she loved him for who he was _now_.

 

He continued to caress her high cheekbone with his thumb and reveled in her expression. Her deep feelings were so open and obvious on her face for him to see that they spoke directly to his heart. _Open book._ She swallowed once, twice. Moistened her lips. Opened her mouth. Blinked. He waited.

 

“You can take off the hook now,” she whispered a little unexpectedly. _I love you,_ translated her eyes. He raised a questioning eyebrow, and she added: “There's no impending danger tonight, and I...” – she smiled – “I’ll protect you.”

 

He nodded slowly, with a slight smile. “I reckon I'm safe then.” He smoothed out her hair with his hook and then turned a little away from her, putting his hand to the metal, starting to twist it off. But she surprised him by putting her hand on his arm, urging him to stop. He threw her a questioning glance.

 

“Let me see how you do it,” she asked softly. For a second he frowned, not knowing what she was getting at. But the encouraging smile on her face made it dawn on him. She'd seen him and made love to him with and without the hook, but she'd never actually seen him take it off – the very vulnerable moment when he actually dropped that armor had never been her privilege to watch. _I will protect you._ She'd allowed him to see her walls go down, now it was time to reciprocate. She truly wanted all of him. He turned back to her again and tilted his head while making that swaying move with his hand that absolutely classified the minimalistic gesture as a bow.

 

“As you wish,” he replied calmly, and like on earlier occasions when he'd said that to her, she averted her eyes, fixing them on the leather sheath that held his hook. Without hesitating any longer, he twisted the metal off and put it carefully on the nightstand. Then he raised his arm a little and let her look closely at the sheath before he slowly started to unclasp, unlace and undo the fixtures that connected it to his arm. Emma watched his hand intently, and Hook watched her watching him; her expression showed him that indeed she loved and wanted all of him – Hook and Killian Jones – and she didn't seem to differentiate between the two or try to find out where one ended and the other one began. She just accepted and took him exactly as he was.

 

Finally, he offered his left arm to her. “Here,” he told her quietly, and she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. He nodded with a smile. “Go ahead, Swan. It's all loosened. Just remove it.”

 

She raised both hands to the leather, carefully brushed her fingertips over it and hesitated. "Don't be shy, love," he encouraged with a smile. "There." He put his hand over her right and guided it to the strategically right point of the sheath, "and here." He did the same with her left hand. "It's yours."

 

Emma drew a deep breath and pulled; she was surprised how easily the sheath came off and handed it to him. He put it on the nightstand beside the hook and turned to her again. Briefly, she let her fingertips wander over the skin of his now exposed left forearm, following the light red pressure marks the rigid leather had left. Beautifully flawed, like the rest of him. She gazed up at his face again, and he tilted his head with a meaningful little grin, slightly spreading his arms. "There you go," he commented, "defenseless."

 

His intense blue eyes bore into hers, somewhat expectantly, and she thought she could easily drown in them. She raised her chin almost proudly.

 

"So am I," she replied.

 

They both fell silent and sat in stillness, just looking at each other and studying one another’s face – bare of any mask and truly mirroring the emotions of honesty, trust and above all, love. They were perfectly aware of the deeper meaning of their words; no walls, no armors were left now. They'd both stripped themselves bare of even the latest barrier that, in the past, had been supposed to protect them from being hurt. They were giving each other the grandest of all presents lovers could give: deep and mutual trust.

 

Emma was the first to break the spell; she slid over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and swung her left leg across him so that she practically came to sit on his lap. Hook put his hand and, after only a second of hesitation, his mutilated wrist to her hips. Her face was a little above his now. She smiled – and it was the sultry, carefree smile again – and bent a little forward, touching her front to his.

 

“Let's make love until we fall asleep,” she demanded with a subtle sort of intensity.

 

“Make love?” he echoed and slightly tilted his head with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Is that what it's called in this realm?”

 

Emma shrugged. “Too profane for you?”

 

Hook pursed his lips in thought and swayed his head. “Not profane at all. Plain and simple.” He grinned. “Beautiful.” With an almost sudden move, he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pulled her body close into his. “Yes, let's – make... _love_.” He let the words roll across his tongue like a fine sip of exquisite rum.

 

With only a slight shifting of her hips she managed to let him glide inside her again and slid her arm closely around his broad shoulders while her other hand cupped the back of his head, her fingers combing through his unruly hair, never getting enough of messing it up. She had her ankles crossed behind his back, and his arms were crossed behind hers; they were smiling at each other and exchanging a lot of kisses in between, their hips gently rocking back and forth into each other. It was very similar to the kisses they’d shared only twenty-four hours ago outside Granny's, only this time they were in a warm bed, naked, and connected in the most intimate way. They moved slowly, almost carefully – like they had all the time in the world.

 

Oddly enough and unusual for them, they were very quiet, and the only sounds to be heard were their heavy breathing, only interrupted by the occasional sigh, the soft smacking sound of their lips when they kissed and the gentle creaking of the mattress as they swayed back and forth. Time didn't really matter, and when they finally sank onto the pillows, they were both completely spent and exhausted, but neither had never felt more alive before.

 

The moment her head touched the pillow, Emma felt a leaden, delicious heaviness crawl into her limbs, and at the same time her mind was light and swirling with no particular thought but just a general mist of happiness. Her eyelids seemed to close all by themselves. She curled up like a cat on her left side with an equally exhausted Hook spooning her from behind, his right arm wrapped over her protectively, his hand resting firmly and warmly on her stomach.

 

Within seconds his deep and steady breathing indicated he was asleep. Emma smiled and took his hand, pulling it up to her chest and holding it there with both of her hands, lacing her fingers through his. She kissed his fingertips, closed her eyes and whispered something into the darkness of the small bedroom – right now also known as her little private heaven – just because she wanted to hear the sound of the words and see how they felt on her lips.

 

 _"I love you."_ She was amazed at how wonderful it sounded and how awesome it felt – awesome and so surprisingly natural.

 

Behind her back, Hook was staring into the night with wide blue eyes. His full lips curved into the most dazzling smile he'd ever smiled.

 


	7. She's Real, Too?

Chapter 7:

She's Real, Too?

The next morning, Emma awoke refreshed and unusually early. This time, the bed beside her wasn't empty. Her lover was still sleeping like a baby. She sat up, pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them then rested her left cheek on her knees as she watched Hook in his slumber.

He was lying on his back with his left arm behind his head and his hand resting on his flat stomach with ringed fingers spread just above his bellybutton. The sheet covered his lower body just enough to keep him decent, though not enough to keep Emma’s thoughts from tip-toeing into carnal territory. But there was more than desire on her mind; the shy smile on her face delighted in the tenderness for him coiling deep within her heart, loving the way his head lolled a little to the left like a young boy deeply ensconced in dreamland. In his sleep, his features were completely relaxed and ageless. The centuries of vigilance had faded from his beautiful face and were replaced by contentment. And he truly was beautiful. Flawless except for that single scar on his cheek, his face had become the standard by which she knew she’d always judge other men. His long, sinful lashes feathered out over his scruffy cheeks, and even now a barely perceptible smile curved his lush, slightly parted lips as if he were thinking very lovely thoughts. 

Emma's eyes wandered from his messy hair over his face and perfect chest – sprinkled with that hair that drove her crazy and smelled so good – down his muscular right arm to his hand, normally so expressive, but for once motionless in its repose. A hint of a blush warmed her cheeks as she recalled in vivid detail just how talented those fingers actually were. His fingertips brushed over his abdomen, the subtle ridges of muscle shifting with each of his breaths. Honestly the man was in remarkable shape, his body strong and well-toned. Every inch, and she truly meant every inch, of Killian Jones was worthy of note. The man was gorgeous and she could have admired him like that for hours, but the most stunning thing about him right now was that tiny ghost of a smile still playing at the corner of his luscious mouth, more prominent now than it had been just moments before. He must have had a very pleasant thought before falling asleep and somehow that made her incredibly happy. She had an inkling that she had something to do with that smile; at least she hoped, anyways.

Emma felt her own smile bloom across her lips as she sat watching him, just enjoying the cocoon of peace blanketing the little room. She remembered what she'd whispered to herself the night before, right before falling asleep, and she still couldn't believe that she'd said the words out loud. Well, technically, she hadn't said them out loud, and especially not for him to hear, but she knew she'd be ready for that soon, too. She wanted to keep that feeling to herself, to revel in it just a little bit longer. But soon. The thought alone made her smile brighten. 

As if he'd been sensing her stare linger on him, Hook stirred slightly in his sleep and then opened one dazzling blue eye. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep which somehow made it even sexier than usual.

Emma smiled and lifted her head from her knees. "Watching over you."

He opened his other eye and grinned. "You're doing nothing of the sort, Swan.” And already, barely awake, his hand started talking and motioned between them. “You're ogling me."

That man. She rolled her eyes. "Please. You really need to get over yourself."

His eyebrows twitched. "What fun would that be?"

She couldn't help but smile and shook her head. "Come on,” she said and nudged the arm still lodged behind his head, “we have a lot of things to do."

"Oh, I absolutely agree on that, love..." With a swiftness that shouldn't really have surprised her, he propped himself up on his left elbow and reached out for her with his hand. But Emma was pretty quick herself. She snatched her arm away before he could grab her wrist and swung her legs out of bed in spite of his growled protest.

"Not that,” she waved him off and ignored the lewd grin he threw her way, rolling his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip at the sight of her standing naked beside the bed. She blushed slightly under his shameless, appreciative stare, but refused to wrap a sheet around herself and hide. Instead, she raised her chin. Deal with it, pirate. “I meant serious things, Deputy Sheriff." She chuckled at the way his handsome face fell when he heard what she’d called him.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as if he hadn't heard right. "Come again?"

Emma threw a mean grin his way and replied cockily, "You wish."

But for once, he let the occasion pass to jump on an innuendo. "Did you just call me a law enforcer, Swan?" he asked incredulously and shook his head almost grimly. "The things I'd do for you are multifarious, my love, but I shall never be a law enforcer.” His voice dropped a few nuances, and he threw her one of his intense glances from under his raised eyebrows, head tilted slightly down, completely stripped of any flirtation and burning with seriousness. “Even as a pirate, I do have some dignity," he added.

Emma put her hands to her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Seriously now?”

He waved his hand in a standoffish way. “I have lived as an outlaw for longer than I can remember, and I'll be called a law enforcer only over my dead body,” he insisted almost defiantly. Then he threw her a more than suggestive glance and grinned, shifting pointedly under the sheet. “Although... even if my body might be three hundred years old, it's anything but... dead.”

With sheer, iron willpower she forced herself not to look at where the sheet barely covered his lower body; instead, she fixed her gaze on his face, ignored his pun and the way he popped the 'd' when he said “dead”, and smiled in mild amusement, knowing exactly what he was doing. "Does it matter what you call it?" She folded her arms, her own nudity completely forgotten, and threw him a challenging look. "What do you think you've been doing since we got back from New York? Or, better yet, from Neverland?"

Hook scratched behind his ear and tilted his head, averting his eyes for a moment. "Watching over you?" he offered.

Emma groaned and waved him off impatiently. Really, what was wrong with being called a good guy? He was just so stubborn sometimes. "Okay, how about Supporting Hero then?” she suggested. “Assistant to the Savior? Is that better?"

He cocked his head in that equivalent of a nod that was so typical for him. "Much better.” Then he threw back the sheet and swung his legs out of bed. With his back to her, he slowly got up and stretched his lean, well-toned body, every muscle twitching and moving underneath the silky skin. Emma rolled her eyes and almost huffed, annoyed at herself that she couldn't help but shamelessly stare at the glorious sight of his muscular backside, the broad shoulders and the trim waist, not to mention his perfect backside. Her mouth started watering, and unconsciously, she licked her lips. And, of course, she knew that the bastard was doing it on purpose. So much for her earlier innocent appraisal; her thoughts were now firmly in camp carnality. Damn, they had spent the whole evening and the better part of the night making love, and yet again she wanted nothing more than to jump him.

When he thought he’d teased her enough, he went in for the kill, turning around and smirking at her. Great. Presenting his front wasn't one tad better. “Speaking of assisting you..."

“Oh no!” She raised both hands in front of her. “Stay right where you are. I can take care of myself just fine.”

Her gaze flew from Hook – who was slowly sauntering towards her in all his naked glory – to the bathroom door, contemplating if she could make it past him without looking like she was trying to flee; now, that would really look ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and she made her own decisions. Her hormones would not get the better of her! Alas, her momentary distraction had made her pondering obsolete, because he’d already reached her and, with a swift sweep of his right arm, had snatched her into a tight, warm embrace. Immediately, the little hairs on the back of Emma's neck bristled when she felt his bare skin, still warm from bed, against hers. For a moment, they swayed a little while she steadied herself against him, and that – combined with his almost triumphant smirk – reminded her very much of their moment in the giant’s treasure room, a long time ago. It's about bloody time. No, it hadn't really been necessary to pull his body against hers to prevent him from stumbling over the trip wire; she'd done that instinctively, without even thinking about it. And afterward… well, she'd been lying to herself for quite a long time, denying that she'd felt a spark between them even back then.

“Oh, I'm sure you're perfectly capable of that, love,” Hook's voice brought her back to the present from her reverie. But he threatened to catapult her right out of reality again when he bent down to graze his scruffy jaw along the side of her throat while slowly bringing his lips to her ear for a lewd purr. “But isn't it so much better when I take care of you?”

With slight reluctance, Emma put her hands against his chest like she was aiming to push him away. There wasn’t much strength in that move, though; she simply enjoyed the feeling of his body against her palms too much. “Oh, come on. Stop trying to distract me.” Also, her voice didn't sound as unnerved as she’d intended it to.

He leaned back again to look her in the eyes, tilting his head and using his ‘puppy face’ on her. “What harm can two more minutes do?”

“Two minutes?” she echoed with the slightest hint of accusation in her voice. “We both know what you have in mind will take more than two minutes.” She shook her head when she noticed what she’d said and corrected herself quickly. “Would take. Far more.”

He grinned, his eyes glittering with that devilish spark. “Why, you flatter me, love. But I can assure you, acquiring my main goal shan’t take up more time than that.”

“And what's that?” she asked, now amused.

He held her close with his left arm and raised his hand to her face, trailing the contours of her cheekbone with his fingertips while his thumb slowly traced her lower lip. The light touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she had to close her eyes involuntarily for the fraction of a second. “To make you say 'please, don't stop that' instead,” he drawled in a very low voice that did funny things to her stomach and her knees. His damn eyebrows shot up when he cocked his head in a little shrug. “Or moan it. I'm not particularly punctilious about the details.”

Damn that pirate and his smugness! She rolled her eyes. “Hook...” she sighed, but it came out much less annoyed and chastising than she'd meant it to be.

He just chuckled and leaned down again, kissing the side of her throat this time, slowly and thoroughly, while his hand inched down her back, leaving traces of goose bumps on her bare skin. “Sighing my name is already a good start,” he murmured against her flushing skin. “You might want to go ahead, love...”

Emma couldn't help but close her eyes and let her head fall back to give him better access to her sensitive neck, although she really had no intention to. She was a little annoyed at herself and her lack of resistance to his charms and complained half-heartedly: “I told you to stop...” But when she felt him slowly walking her backwards to the bed, sliding his thigh between her legs in the process, her hips rolled against his and her fingers curled all by themselves, nails digging into his shoulders where she was holding on. In response, he chuckled against her skin, his scruff tickling her every nerve end. They stumbled on the bed, and Emma landed on her back with Hook by her right side.

Before she could protest any further – not that she could have mustered the energy to do so anyway – he bent down and kissed her fully on the mouth; slowly, thoroughly, demanding. Almost casually, his hand cupped her face while he flexed his hips a little and pressed his hardness against her side. His right knee draped over her thighs, holding her in place as her back arched and she pushed her sensitive center upwards against him.

His hand traveled down her throat, gently but also firmly cupping and caressing her left breast. He felt her moan softly against his lips and raised his head to look down at her lovingly. “You were saying?” he teased.

“Damn you, Killian...” she breathed and entangled her hands in his unruly hair, trying to pull him back into the kiss again.

All his devotion mirrored on his face along with that devilish spark lurking in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He killed her with his heart-stopping smile. “Say the magic words, my love,” he murmured in a voice of honey and gravel.

She knew protesting any further was pointless and sighed, “Please, don't stop that...”

In fact, it had taken him not even ninety seconds to achieve his goal.

***

When Hook left the bathroom with naught but a white towel slung carelessly around his hips, Emma was already almost dressed. Her back was turned to him and she was cursing under her breath like the best of sailors. Aye, she had definitely a pirate side, and he loved it. He grinned.

“What is it, love?” he asked in an amused voice.

Emma whirled around, standing there in her button-less blouse that was shamelessly gaping open at the front. She gesticulated angrily, tugging at the useless button border. “This!” she snapped.

“Apologies, but I'm not skilled enough to be of any assistance with that,” he chuckled. “As you know, I've only one hand...” he held it up in the air and wiggled his fingers. “...whereas you have magic. Can't you fix it?” He motioned to her flawless pantyhose and cocked his head. “You fixed that thing.”

Emma threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “No, I didn't. That was a spare pair.”

He frowned in confusion. “Pardon me?”

She shrugged. “I always carry one in my handbag, just in case.”

Hook's jaw dropped, but she was too busy fidgeting with her blouse to see it. “In case of what, exactly?” he inquired with narrowed eyes. “Care to elaborate?”

She rolled her eyes. “In case of a run!” Finally, she recognized his confusion and couldn't help but chuckle. “These things are delicate and very easily torn, sometimes it happens accidentally. One little hole is enough to have a tear run up and down from there. That's called a run.” His eyebrows were still raised in suspicion, and she went on in an amused voice: “Then it looks ugly, and that's why I keep a spare pair in my handbag whenever I wear them.”

“Hmm.” He nodded and suddenly grinned when a thought flashed through his mind. “And do you carry a spare pair of knickers in your satchel, too?” he wanted to know and tilted his head.

“Of course not!” she snapped. “Panties usually aren't torn accidentally.”

He motioned vaguely towards her. “Does that mean, you...” He let his voice trail off and rolled his tongue slowly through his mouth. Emma was not amused; she already felt uncomfortable, not wearing panties underneath her pantyhose. But the torn garment had been hopelessly damaged by his hook the previous evening.

“It means,” she pointed out sharply, “if you want to have breakfast with me, you’d better make yourself at least halfway decent now.” Abruptly, she turned her back on him, studying herself in the mirror on the wall beside the closet. In frustration, she knotted the blouse between her breasts which left her belly bare and, in combination with the short skirt and the high heels, reminded her of an only slightly classier, blonde version of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. “Great,” she growled more to herself, “I look like a hooker.” The moment she realized what she’d just said, she whirled around to him again and shot him a deathly glare right between his half-clueless, half-amused blue eyes. “Don't. Say. A. Word!”

In three hundred years of dealing with tricky situations, Hook had learned when it was better to stage an orderly retreat, so he just raised his eyebrows with a slight head tilt-shrug and quietly picked up his clothes to dress without further ado while his Swan slipped on her black trench and buttoned it up.

***

A short while later, Emma and Hook were sitting at what seemed to be fast becoming their table, or rather, booth. She had her usual mug of hot cocoa in front of her along with a plate of pancakes she'd topped abundantly with maple syrup. As it turned out, and with only a little surprise, Hook was more the type for strong tea and scrambled eggs, though he didn't seem to be used to eating that much in the morning. Emma, on the other hand, could survive the day with only a strong coffee if she had to, but if she took her time to sit down for breakfast, she loved to revel in it; she wasn't one of those people who didn't care what she was eating and just looked at food as a necessity for calories intake. 

Hook was already done with his eggs and played with his fork while he secretly delighted in watching her eat. Instinctively, he caught on to the sensuality she found even in something pedestrian like eating. There was a story there, he was quite certain.

At some point, she felt his observing eyes on her and looked up at him, frowning. “What?”

He just tilted his head. “Nothing, really. I was just thinking...”

She wiped a droplet of maple syrup from her chin. “About what?” she inquired.

He put down his fork. “What do you say, once things have settled back to normal again, I take the lad down to the harbor and show him how to use a sextant and a compass?” He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Teach him a little sailing?”

Emma looked at him with an open-mouthed expression, completely taken by surprise at his suggestion. It pleased her beyond anything that he obviously hadn't forgotten what she’d asked him the evening before, and equally as apparent, he’d put a great deal of thought into it. But then a thought hit her, and before she could finish it properly, the words were already tumbling out of her mouth.

“But you don't have a...” she stopped herself when she realized what she’d just been about to say. Blushing, she tensed as she tried to change course. “I... I mean...” she stuttered feebly. Oh, damn. She squirmed on her seat.

Only the very faint ghost of a shadow touched Hook's handsome features before he looked her in the eyes, fidgeting with his tea mug, and covered up any hint of melancholy with his bright trademark grin. “I'm still a pirate, Swan,” he reminded her quietly, “I can damn well board any ship, any time I wish it.” Her eyes widened, and he winked at her. “Just a joke, love,” he chuckled. “I do realize that as the...” – he tilted his head and moistened his lips with the tip of his wicked tongue – “...boyfriend of the local law enforcer I have to refrain from any nefarious ways which might land me in your brig.” Emma relaxed when she saw the humor twinkle in his eyes and her own gaze darted to his full lips before forcing them up again with a smile. Raising a brow in question he continued, “I'm sure there are enough law-abiding methods in this realm for... allocating a ship without resorting to my scoundrel ways?” 

Emma nodded. “Of course there are.” Naturally, he knew nothing of the chartering business yet. She took a sip from her cocoa and scrutinized him closely. His offer spoke directly to her heart, but as much as she wanted him to spend time with Henry – for the kid's sake as much as for pure egoistical reasons; she realized she wanted her pirate boyfriend to connect with her son – she didn't want him to do it in a way that might make him sad. “Are you sure?” she asked tentatively.

He withstood her gaze and even frowned a little. “Of course I'm sure, Swan. I promised I would, didn't I? And I always keep my promises.”

She smiled and picked up her fork again with a pause of indecision, poking at the last pancake on her plate. “I know you do,” she murmured.

And then, for some reason, her mind tripped back to a distant place, an almost surreal surrounding – dry, deserted, dangerous. A fight, a feeling of desperation, the need to get home... and an infuriating, lewd line, thrown out at her like a promise – he'd even been so impertinent to call it advice – When I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it. She set the fork aside with a final clatter, looked down at her mug and pressed her lips together, grinning to herself when she thought of how accurate that prediction had indeed been. Of course, Hook noticed the change in her expression and raised a questioning eyebrow, tilting his head and searching her expression.

"Why are you blushing, Swan?" he prompted with a bit of amusement, sure that her beautiful blonde head was in the proverbial gutter once more. 

Emma froze and waved him off impatiently. "Never mind." Damn, that "open book" thing was really annoying sometimes, she thought in slight frustration, and seriously, would it always be like that now? Her turning to mush like a lovesick teenager and having impure thoughts at the smallest trigger? Well, good luck with that. And this time, he couldn't even be blamed, as his declaration about keeping his promises hadn't held any trace of innuendo at all.

He didn't reply now. Instead, he grinned and sipped silently from his tea as her thoughts continued to unfold. She simply couldn't distract herself from that day, that occasion, that dreadful feeling that she'd be forced to forsake her son again when she'd lost her sword after what felt like one ridiculous second of crossing blades with Hook. He'd so effortlessly disarmed her... and then, suddenly, he was the one flat on his back – the fight turning on a dime seemingly out of nowhere. A realization hit Emma like a ton of bricks and she stared at Hook with wide eyes and an open-mouthed expression.

He put down his tea mug and wiped his ringed thumb over his mouth absentmindedly. "What?"

She narrowed her eyes. "At the lake, our sword fight..." she murmured.

Hook smirked. "Ah, that's what made you blush?" He leaned back against the bench in that annoyingly cocky way of his; and she just knew his legs underneath the table were spread, and much to her dismay she blushed again at that thought. He tilted his head in a very smug way. “Aye, I suppose I did live up to that particular promise...” He rolled his tongue shamelessly through his mouth and, like so often, let its tip peek out between his sinful lips before he added, “Something tells me you did feel it.”

She rolled her eyes. "Can't you think of anything else than..."

"It seems that indeed you're the one who can't," he interrupted in an infuriatingly self-satisfied tone, and the only thing she could hold in his favor was that he lowered his voice so that nobody could hear his response. Always a gentleman. “And, besides,” he went on, “I don't recall you complaining about my extraordinary focus last night... or the night before.” He inclined his head a little and let his damn eyebrow twitch. “Or half an hour ago.” He smirked. “Especially not half an hour ago.”

“Never mind!” she snapped again and waved him off impatiently. "That day, you let me win!"

"I let you win?” he echoed and shook his head. “Apologies, love, but I seem to recall you” – he pointed his ringed index finger at her – “knocked me out flat with a compass!" He rubbed his hand over his scruffy jaw. “It's a miracle you didn't leave me permanently marked. Now that would have been a shame!”

"Before that!” Emma pointed out impatiently. “You could have easily bested me one-handed!” Hook cocked an amused eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. “I mean... come on, you know what I mean.”

“Well...” He scratched behind his ear and waved his hand vaguely. "Perhaps I was a little... distracted."

She shook her head and gave him her no-nonsense look. “I'm a good fighter, but not good enough to beat big, bad Captain Hook and his three hundred years of swashbuckling experience, come on!" He just averted his eyes for a moment before turning them back at her with a secret little smile and said nothing. Emma folded her arms. "You let me get away with that compass, Hook. Why?"

Finally, he gave in with a sigh and shrugged. "I knew we didn't need it,” he admitted. “Cora and I had other means to get to your land, and I figured it would be... more interesting if you were here, too." He flashed her his brightest grin.

She scrutinized him closely, suspiciously. Then she nodded thoughtfully. "So, you did it for purely selfish reasons then?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow herself now.

He looked down at his tea mug; his grin had turned somewhat serious. "That, too,” he conceded and thoughtfully scratched behind his ear, “and besides, depriving another lad of being with his mother forever was never really an option."

Emma knew he was talking about Neal – Baelfire then to him – and how he felt responsible for having him grow up without his mother, Milah; something she'd never understand. After all, a mother running away from her child one night just because she wanted to live an unbound life, never even bothering to come back for him or even check up on him, seemed awfully selfish. She pushed that thought away, though; it was nothing she wanted to explore right now. But she knew he was telling her the truth. She shook her head, amazed. "I knew you had a soft side," she gently teased.

He raised an impatient hand. "Stop it, Swan,” he growled, though it lacked any real bite, and fidgeted with his earring. “You're about to ruin my reputation."

Emma smiled fondly and nudged his knee under the table with her leg. "You already did that yourself, Hook."

He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to finish that, Swan?” he asked almost curtly in his embarrassment and waved his hand a little briskly towards her plate. “I thought you said we have lots of things to do.”

“Yeah, right,” she replied in an amused voice and rose from her seat. “Come on, let's go. We have to stop by the loft first.”

***  
Mary Margaret had just finished feeding and changing the baby when the apartment door opened and Emma came in, a slightly uncomfortable looking pirate following on her heels.

“Good morning,” she greeted the newcomers then directed at her daughter, “Look who's here!”

“Line's getting old, mom,” Emma replied dryly and went over to her, pressing a kiss on her baby brother's bald head. The dark haired woman rolled her eyes. Emma nudged her playfully and gave her a cheeky sorry-not-sorry-grin. Not being a teenager did indeed have its advantages.

“I was going to fix some breakfast once I've put your brother back to sleep again,” Mary Margaret then said, “you guys want some?”

“No, thanks – we've had it at Granny's,” Emma said apologetically and headed for the stairs. “I just need to get...” she waved her hand vaguely and averted her eyes, “...something.”

Fresh underwear, Mary Margaret thought sarcastically and turned her attention to her daughter's pirate boyfriend, still standing in the middle of the room like a pillar of salt, shuffling his feet. Look at that, she grinned to herself, under all his insolent pirate swagger and loudmouth innuendos, at the end of the day he's just like the next guy mortified and terrified by his girlfriend's parents' interrogation. Well, let's give him some. Mary Margaret decided to let her devilish bandit side roam free and beat a little about the bush. She motioned to the table with her head.

“Come on, Hook, have a seat,” she invited. “Since when are you so shy?”

Hook grinned a little uneasily and slumped down on one of the chairs, truly hoping that his Swan would be back soon. When he'd seen Emma's mother the last time, they’d parted on fairly friendly terms, but of course a lot had happened since then. Emma hadn't spent the last two nights at home, and the royal bandit knew damn well where her daughter had been. He had an inkling she wouldn't let that pass without at least some comment. And what in the blazes was he supposed to say? Believe me, I was going to be a gentleman, but your daughter begged for it, Your Highness? A little guiltily, he ran his hand over his mouth and hoped that she would busy herself with the baby, but alas, she sat down at the table opposite him, the wee one on her arm, and directed her attentive scrutiny on him. Wonderful.

“So,” Mary Margaret began the inquiry, “where are you headed today?”

He was thrown off track for a moment as he had expected other questions. “Nothing special,” he replied quickly and scratched behind his ear, “just...”

“Hook,” the princess bandit interrupted firmly, and he fell silent. “Don't you give me lame answers. David already does that. If there's any danger brewing, I have a right to know. Is there anything I need to worry about?”

He looked into her eyes, noting that she was the no-nonsense royal rebel now. Once more he admired her gumption, he always had. He shook his head. “We just want to check the Wicked Witch's premises to make sure we haven't any other surprises lurking on the horizon.”

Mary Margaret's eyes widened. “Why?” she asked. “Has anything happened?”

“Nothing.” he tilted his head. “I've just learned that a proper villain normally always has something up their sleeve.” He grinned, for a moment every inch the former ruffian again, and added, “At least I always did.” Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, and he went on. “I’ve also learned that double-checking is best.”

She studied him closely to see if he was hiding anything from her; satisfied that he was being sincere, she nodded. “Good.”

Hook cleared his throat and motioned to the baby. “And how's the wee one doing?” he asked.

Mary Margaret looked down at her son whose eyes were closing already and smiled. “He's doing fine. I'm getting used to it.” Suddenly, a spark appeared in her eyes. “Speaking of which...” She rose from her seat and rounded the table. “I forgot something...” Hook looked up at her, frowning in question, and suddenly froze in shock when she bent forward and quickly and unceremoniously laid the baby in the crook of his left elbow before he could object. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Wha... wait, no, what...” he stuttered, but before he could even form a coherent phrase, she'd turned around on her heels and disappeared in the direction of what was probably the bathroom, or so he assumed. Hook's eyes widened and his body turned all rigid. He stopped breathing and, without moving his head, turned his eyes down on the tiny bundle the damn bandit hat put into his leather-clad arm. A newborn, bloody hell, in his hooked arm! Was she out of her bloody mind? He saw that the baby's eyes were now wide open again and appeared to be looking directly at his new host. Marvelous. Tentatively, Hook wiggled his eyebrows at the wee one. “Shouldn't you be sleeping?” he suggested feebly.

The infant – Neal, he remembered, Emma had told him – suddenly started to whimper and flapped his tiny arms uncontrollably. Hook was terrified to feel the bundle move in his arm and quickly put his big hand on the tiny body, right on the stomach, fingers spread, so that the baby was secured in his arm. Luckily, the minute human seemed to approve of the touch, or maybe it was just the warmth of the palm he felt, and stopped wailing, his eyes still fixed on Hook's face. Say something, he urged himself. But what? He'd never had to deal with infants that small – older children were another thing, but something so tiny and fragile just frightened him. He moved his arm a bit back and forth tentatively in a rocking move, imitating a cradle. The wee one seemed to approve of that, too.

“There, there,” he murmured without thinking and tried to keep his voice low and soft like a comforting hum. “Mama should be back soon...” He threw a nervous glance over his shoulder and added, “At least, let's hope so, little mate...”

When Mary Margaret came back carrying a completely unnecessary baby blanket she hadn't really needed to fetch, she suppressed a grin at the sight she was privy to; Hook did look a little clumsy with the baby bundle in his left arm, but he'd steadied and secured Neal with his hand on the child's stomach. His head was turned to the earnest little baby face as he murmured, and he was actually carefully rocking the infant in his arm. Quite the cutthroat pirate, she thought in amusement. When he heard her approach, however, an expression of relief spread over his handsome features.

Mary Margaret folded her arms and nodded approvingly. “You seem to be quite the natural when it comes to handling my... children,” she commented pointedly, deliberately using the plural form.

Bang! That came out of nowhere. Devious bandit! Hook couldn't help but admire her. She'd confused him then startled him, and now she was attacking from an unexpected position. Excellent tactics. “Hardly,” he murmured and raised his arms a little, inviting her to take the child back. But obviously, she didn't have that in mind yet. She raised her chin in that haughty way of hers and scrutinized him closely. He was dying to scratch behind his ear, but didn't dare to take his hand off of the baby's body.

“My daughter cares for you,” she said, “a lot. She might not be ready yet to tell you so, but we both know she does.”

Hook had no idea where she was heading now; had she switched over into disapproval? He knew instinctively this wasn't the right time for flippant jokes or snarky replies. He bore his eyes into hers, hoping that all the depth and sincerity of his feelings for Emma were transparent. “I very much do hope so, Milady,” he told her firmly without a single hint of teasing.

Mary Margaret nodded. “Listen, p– … Captain,” she corrected herself; only an ever-so-subtle twitch of his eyebrow and a quick tightening of his jaw signaled that he’d noticed the word she'd chosen – and the word she had not chosen. She tilted her head. “From one former outlaw to the other...” she pointed her right index finger first at herself, then at him. “This might not be the Enchanted Forest, but I can still draw a nasty bow at anyone who hurts someone I love.” Hook raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in a nod. She bent forward and narrowed her eyes. “If you want to be a part of this family, you’d better bear that in mind.”

If her choice of words had blown him off of his feet – and how could it not have? – he didn't show it. He just swallowed and tilted his head again, but it wasn't just a nod this time, it was a bow. “Point taken, Milady,” he replied smoothly, allowing a little sass into his voice now.

Mary Margaret nodded, obviously satisfied for the moment. “Good.” Then, as if nothing had happened, she reached her arms out and took the patient baby from Hook's arm. “Come on, Neal,” she smiled brightly at her son and added in a singsong voice without looking at the pirate, “Uncle Killian has to go and do some hero business now.”

Hook felt it was now safe to roll his eyes at Mary Margaret and throw her a sarcastic grin, knowing where he stood with her. If you want to be a part of this family... damn the princess bandit, she was as amazing as her daughter was. Mary Margaret reciprocated his snarky glance and even winked at him, when Emma descended the stairs. Clad in jeans, a sweater and her red leather jacket now, Emma sensed something had been going on during her absence. She wasn't so sure she wanted to know what it was, though.

“I'm ready to go,” she announced as she slyly checked with quick probing glances that her mother and her lover weren't at each other's throats. But somehow, a secret understanding seemed to waver in the air between them. All seemed to be well. Emma shrugged mentally; she surely wasn't going to wake any sleeping dogs.

Hook rose from his chair. “Then let's go.”

“See you later?” Emma directed at her mother; Mary Margaret just waved them off.

They left the apartment, Hook's stride much more confident than when they’d arrived, and while she was pulling the door close behind them, he muttered under his breath, “No skirt today?”

“Nope.” She grinned to herself. “Today you'll have to work a little harder to get to the good stuff.”

“Challenge accepted,” was his only answer.

***  
Half an hour later, they'd thoroughly checked the barn Zelena had used for her wicked purposes, but it seemed empty and innocent. The strange circular symbols she'd made the Dark One dig into the compacted clay soil were still visible, but absolutely no danger seemed to emanate from them. Emma still shuddered, though, when she clearly saw the marks where she and Hook had been dragged across the floor towards the open abyss that was the time portal.

He noticed how she hunched her shoulders like she was freezing. “Emma?” he asked with a frown.

She kept staring at the middle of the concentric symbols, where the portal had been and, unconsciously, rubbed her left arm. “I really thought we wouldn't make it out safe this time,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

“Well, thanks to you, we did,” he replied softly, realizing how much that obviously still affected her.

Finally, she tore her eyes away from the floor and looked at him. “You contributed your fair share to that, too,” she told him with a smile, and he quickly averted his eyes for a moment in that embarrassed way of his. She shook her head at him and went on. “If you hadn't believed in me and encouraged me...”

He grinned and tilted his head in a shrug. “I told you, I have yet to see you fail... and I still haven't.”

“Right.” She pressed her lips together in a smile and nodded. “You were right, back on the beanstalk... we do indeed make quite the team, don't we?”

Absentmindedly, he smoothed out her hair with his hook. “Apparently so, love.”

Emma winked and moistened her lips. “Even if I did deprive you of a dashing rescue.”

“Well...” – his eyebrows twitched – “I did at least rescue you from... you know...” He waved his hook nonchalantly.

Emma's eyes widened when she realized what he was talking about. “What, aboard the Jolly Roger?” She snorted a little ironic laugh. “Please. I was in control of the situation,” she told him a little too casually, a little too firmly.

Hook tilted his head and raised his eyebrows again. “That's what you think, Swan. From what I saw, he handled you pretty well...”

Quickly, she looked away, a little flustered as she tried to cast away the memories that her head was replaying before her inner eye: her, dressed as a bar wench, and Hook's past self on the Jolly Roger below deck; her hands clinging to the lapels of his coat, his hooked arm pulling her body firmly into his, while his hand had gone right to the back of her head as they'd kissed. Yes, they'd been staggering back and forth, and he'd been a bit drunk, but still surprisingly steady on his feet – probably due to centuries of experience of standing on swaying planks. His lips had been rough and demanding on hers and tasted of salty air and the rum she'd made him drink, and she'd kept telling herself it had been the constant rocking of the ship that made her feel a little weak in the knees and insecure on her feet herself.

She raised her chin a little defiantly and replied in a rush, “You didn't see a thing. He was drunk.”

Hook tilted his head while both of his eyebrows shot up and he scratched behind his ear. “Oh, I can assure you, that never would’ve kept me… him from his intentions.” He waved his hand casually. “You know what I mean.”

Emma waved him off impatiently. This was getting a little awkward. “Well, whatever.”

With determined steps, she walked past him and headed for the exit to leave the barn, but he quickly reached out with his hook and held her back by her left elbow. She whirled around and glared at him. There was a devilish spark in his eyes. “I was wondering...”

She rolled eyes; obviously, he wasn't through with the subject yet. “What?” she snapped.

“Well...” he tilted his head again and looked at her from under his thick eyebrows in that typical way of his, gently poking her chest with his ringed index finger. “How far would you have taken the charade, had I not interrupted your... dalliance?” Back then, right in the middle of the situation, it had disturbed him a good deal to helplessly watch his Swan that close and intimate with his predatory past self. Now, as they were safe and nothing had actually happened, and he was sure that she was really his now, he started to see the irony and foreshadowing of that situation and could be relaxed about it – and even see the hilarious and revealing sides of it.

Emma, however, narrowed her eyes and asked in an almost threatening voice, “What are you suggesting?”

Hook reached out with his hand, took a strand of her soft hair and let it run through his fingers. In spite of the almost carefree, unconscious caress – or, maybe, exactly because of that – it was a very sensual gesture. He never took his burning eyes off of hers though. “Tell me, Swan...” He paused long enough to roll his tongue through his sinful mouth before he went on; “...would you have sailed that ship right into the harbor?”

In an infuriated move, she tossed her head and snatched her hair out of his hand. “Of course not!” Briskly, she turned on her heels and stomped out of the barn. He followed her quickly, thoroughly amused now and also pretty smug about the fact that even though they'd been on an important mission and his past self had still been more of a rogue than anything else, obviously he’d indeed had a huge effect on her. Her angry bluster and reddened cheeks spoke of her lingering embarrassment at his insinuation. Open book.

“Not even a little tempted, Swan?” he purred.

Damn him. Not that she hadn't asked herself that question a hundred times already. If she was honest with herself, she could have chosen a myriad of other ways to create a situation that would have kept Hook's past self occupied in that tavern and held him back from returning to the Jolly Roger too soon. Yet, she'd decided to – it couldn't be described otherwise – shamelessly throw herself at him. She'd told herself that had been the best way to make sure he'd forget everything else, but a tiny part of her had never been able to deny how much she’d actually enjoyed flirting with him; to play with him and make a pass in that shamelessly lewd way that absolutely matched his for once. As much as that wanton bar wench had been his type, that ruggedly handsome, blatantly self-confident pirate with the incredibly blue eyes, wicked tongue and husky voice had absolutely been her type. And she hadn't even been ashamed of herself – always telling herself that it had all been for the greater good. When it had become clear that she wouldn't be able to prevent him from returning to the ship any longer – come back with me for a nightcap or shall I find somebody else? – she'd told herself that she didn’t really have another choice than to go with him and play along. And while they'd walked along the mole towards the ship – his hooked arm wrapped firmly around her waist – she hadn't bothered to ask herself what was going to happen once they reached the ship and she'd be forced to lay her cards on the table.

No, of course she would not have gone all the way, even if the real, present-time Hook never appeared on the ship to disturb her tête-à-tête. Or would she? Would her baser nature that had obviously always drawn her towards him, in whatever version, have gotten the better of her? Maybe, if she could’ve been sure that it wouldn't have held any consequences for the present and that nobody would ever find out about it... no! She stopped herself. The thought was too embarrassing to even finish.

So, as an answer, Emma just shook her head, but she grinned to herself when Hook couldn't see it and muttered under her breath, “Maybe a little...”

“Come again?” he called after her, but she just rolled her eyes. She made a few steps outside when she felt his hook at her arm again, her right arm this time, and was roughly held back. “Swan, wait!”

She spun around angrily. He really didn't know when it was enough, sometimes. “Alright, already!” she snapped. “I was tempted, okay? Maybe I really would have...” she interrupted herself when she saw that his expression had completely changed from amused and teasing to serious and worried, and his eyes were looking past her, scanning the outside of the barn. “Hook?”

Almost absentmindedly, he threw her a quick look. “I know you were tempted,” he replied almost impatiently and pointed past her. “There,” he muttered under his breath and she frowned, now really worried. It had been a few days since she’d last seen that tense, danger-aware expression on his handsome face. Slowly, she turned around to see what he was pointing at and saw the strangest, perhaps most intimidating appearance she’d seen since a ten-year-old little boy had knocked on the door of her small apartment in Boston a little more than two years ago. Stranger even than flying monkeys.

The creature stood maybe seven feet tall, and its posture only vaguely resembling a human. But it could have also been a giant locust; it had dangerous looking claws instead of hands and definitely moved like a predator. Surprisingly enough, Emma could spot something which looked like the remnants of a red dress, and the creature wore something like a golden helmet with two big golden horns. Its face, however, had nothing human about it, and from the quick glimpse she was able to get, it reminded her faintly of a figure in a horror movie she’d seen a long time ago – Species. The creature hasted across the field and disappeared into the forest; the wailing noises it was making were definitely not human.

Emma's jaw dropped when she slowly turned around to Hook. “What the hell was that?!”

Much to her surprise, he didn't look as shocked and completely thrown off track as she felt. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, “I thought it couldn't escape...”

“What?!” She slapped his leather-clad chest with the back of her hand. “Hook! Do you know anything about this?!” she inquired.

He shook his head absentmindedly, his eyes still scanning the forest edge. “Not really. But I know who does.”

Her eyes widened. “Who? Gold?” She grasped the lapels of his leather coat and firmly tugged at them to draw his attention to her. “Damn it, Killian, answer me!”

Finally, he focused on her again and tilted his head. “As much as I wouldn't mind blaming this on the Dark One, alas, not this time,” he replied without the slightest hesitation.

“Then who?” she almost yelled. That man was so infuriatingly cryptic sometimes.

For a moment, Hook's eyes grew a shade darker and his jaw tightened. “Well, the Queen, of course,” he almost growled.

“Regina?” Emma gasped in disbelief, and he just stared at her again with an almost sarcastic lift of his brow; obviously, something had happened between Hook and Regina which involved this fearsome creature, but she had no idea where and when and now wasn't the right time to investigate. Instead, she quickly pulled out her cell phone and dialed Regina's number.

The former Evil Queen answered after the third ring. Instead of a greeting, Emma cut right to the chase. “Where's Henry?”

“Well, good day to you, too, Miss Swan,” Regina replied sarcastically. “He's upstairs with Roland.”

“Are you sure?” Emma probed.

Something in her voice obviously woke the other woman's suspicion, because she didn't snap back snidely at Emma's impoliteness, as she normally would have done. “Yes, I'm sure,” she answered in a no-nonsense voice. “What's wrong?”

“We need to talk,” Emma replied curtly. “We'll be over in a few minutes.” And with that, she hung up and headed hastily for her car with Hook following closely behind.

They arrived at Regina's mansion only a few minutes later. Emma banged loudly, and perhaps a bit rudely, on the door. Regina, however, didn't seem all too upset about their visit. She looked at them with a raised eyebrow and benevolent irony. “Well, well, well... if it isn't the happy couple and their blossoming young love,” she commented.

Emma was flabbergasted for a moment and looked a little helplessly to and fro between her former enemy and her lover. Hook just tilted his head and didn't reply whereas Regina chuckled. “Come on, Miss Swan, you didn't think it would go unnoticed that neither of you has been seen around for the last two days?” Emma raised her chin defiantly and thought for a moment that Regina should be the last to make fun of blossoming young love. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. But Regina wouldn't be Regina if she didn't find an embarrassing thing to put her finger on. And of course she didn’t let it stop right there, either. “Oh, and rumor has it that at our local bed & breakfast the nights have become... noisy.”

Hook couldn't help but scratch behind his ear and grin to himself, although he tried his best to suppress it in the light of the situation. Emma decided to ignore Regina's remark and shook her head. “There's a beast on the loose!”

The former Evil Queen wrinkled her nose in disgust and raised her hands. “Definitely too much information, Miss Swan. I'm really not interested in the details of your...”

“The sheriff means your friend that used to live not-so-happily under the library,” Hook threw in sarcastically, and Emma's head snapped around to him. What the hell had been going on between them? She only knew of one creature that had been living under the library, and that was the dragon she'd slain a long time ago – before Hook had ever set foot in town.

Regina turned to him with an alarmed face. “Maleficent?!” she almost gasped.

Emma's eyes widened in disbelief while Hook just nodded solemnly. “The very same lovely lady you tried to feed my guts to, Your Majesty,” he replied, not without a certain edge to his voice. Emma's eyes flew to Regina again, and she clenched her fists, hating the feeling of not knowing what was going on when the other two obviously did.

“Who?” she snapped, ignoring Hook's remark. “The lady with the horns in Sleeping Beauty? Are you two kidding me?”

Regina rolled her eyes at Emma’s ignorance. “Oh, come on, Miss Swan,” she scoffed. “Enough already with the surprise. You really should know better by now.” She opened her door wider and briskly nodded her head inside, beckoning them in. “Yes, she's real, too, and yes – this is serious.”


	8. It's Complicated

Chapter 8:

It's Complicated

So, only about three days had passed before another crisis meeting had to be held in Storybrooke, Maine. The town had barely recovered from having to deal with the threat of the Wicked Witch of the West when Emma, Hook and Regina were sitting in the kitchen of the Mayor's mansion, discussing the newest magical peril lurking.

“So, this... thing we saw is actually... Maleficent?” Emma shook her head in a clueless way; it still felt very odd, to say the least, to pronounce that name. “What is she, some kind of dark fairy?”

“She wasn't exactly known as a dark fairy,” Regina replied, “but surely as one of the most powerful and dangerous beings of the realm. The mistress of the Forbidden Forest.”

“Why do I even ask,” Emma growled, a cutting edge to her voice. 

Regina ignored her tone and asked a little condescendingly: “But what I'm interested in... which form did she have when you saw her?” She looked to and fro between Emma and Hook.

“Well, not human, that's for sure,” Emma told her with barely veiled disgust.

The other woman leaned forward and scrutinized her closely. “A dragon?” she inquired.

Emma's eyes grew wide in horror. “Hell, no! It looked more like a... a giant locust in a dress.” She shuddered involuntarily at the memory. Then she realized what Regina had just asked and narrowed her eyes. “Wait... that dragon trapped in the cave under the clock tower...?” The former Evil Queen nodded matter-of-factly, and Emma gasped: “But it's dead! I killed it!”

“You thought you did, Miss Swan,” Regina corrected in that haughty way of hers.

“What do you mean, I thought?!” Emma snapped. “I freaking staked it with my father's sword, and it exploded before my eyes! It... it...” – she gesticulated wildly with both hands, looking for the right word to describe what had happened that crazy day – “...it evaporated! There were only ashes left!”

Regina shook her head with that special arrogant calmness that was so infuriating. “She just changed form. That's what she's known for. I've seen her do it many times.” She fell silent and folded her hands on the table, tapping the tips of her index fingers together thoughtfully. Emma let out a frustrated sigh and looked at Hook who just raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in an I-have-no-clue-about-this-either shrug. “Obviously,” Regina went on slowly, “by using your father's sword you must somehow have deprived her of reverting back to her dragon form. That's interesting.”

“Yeah, I'm on the edge of my seat!” Emma remarked sarcastically, and despite the tense situation, Hook threw her an amused glance. There was his tough lass.

Regina shot her a very regal glare and, ignoring her remark, went on: “As she is no longer in command of her magic staff, she can't turn into her human form either and has thus been trapped somewhere in between since then.” She turned her eyes to Hook and raised a questioning eyebrow; automatically, Emma's eyes followed. She was still clueless about what had been going on between her lover and the former Evil Queen, and she wasn't sure she'd like it if she found out, but she had to know.

He tilted his head to the side. “She looked exactly like that when I last had the pleasure,” he confirmed dryly, answering Regina's unasked question.

“And when was that?” Emma snarled, and the others both looked at her. “If you two don't mind filling me in, that is,” she added pointedly.

Hook shifted a little uncomfortably on his seat, and Regina rolled her eyes. “I went down there to get the...” – she hesitated for a moment, obviously a little uncomfortable herself now – “...the trigger to destroy the town. He...” – she waved her hand a little impatiently at Hook who cocked his head again and raised an ironic eyebrow – “...distracted the creature.”

“Not voluntarily, I daresay,” Hook added dryly.

Emma's eyes narrowed, and she addressed Regina in an almost accusing voice: “It's true, then? You really threw him down there?”

Hook fidgeted with his earring; before the other woman could answer, he remarked: “Let's just say, we both didn't have our finest moments that day, love.”

Emma waved him off with a frown; there was no need in discussing that right now. “Whatever,” she growled and turned to Regina again, more matter-of-factly now. “But I remember you told me she was trapped down there. How could she escape?”

Regina nodded slowly. “There's only one reason I can imagine,” she murmured thoughtfully.

Emma rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “And...?” she urged.

The other woman cleared her throat. “I trapped her with strong dark magic. Obviously, with my growing ability to perform also... light magic, that wore off.” She shrugged almost apologetically, very much like Hook not yet used to siding with the good guys.

“Wait, wait...” Emma raised her hands. “Just to get this straight – does that mean we have to deal with this now because you're not... a villain anymore?” her voice had an incredulous touch now.

“Why, that's what I call an unexpected twist,” Hook threw in and rubbed his scruffy chin.

“Someone once said to me irony is everywhere,” Regina replied with a grin, and he snorted a little laugh.

“I'll laugh later,” Emma snarled in an annoyed voice. “But what I'm interested in...” – she mimicked Regina's earlier snide tone – “That creature... Maleficent... escaped, she's mad at you, and she knows you're here.” She counted the points with her fingers. “Why didn't she come for you?”

Good point, Hook thought; he'd asked himself the same question the moment he'd seen the creature disappear into the forest.

Regina shook her head. “I have no idea, Miss Swan,” she replied gravely.

“What about The Dark One?” Hook suggested reluctantly and scratched behind his ear. “Maybe he could enlighten the situation? Or maybe even be of help resolving it?”

Regina smirked. “Oh dear, you two really lost touch with the rest of us over the last two days, didn't you?” When Hook raised a questioning eyebrow and Emma simultaneously frowned, she explained: “Gold and his little bookworm got married and have left town for their honeymoon, thanks to the rest of a special potion he had stored.” She looked down at her folded hands on the table and added: “I'm sure they spent the last two days pretty much like you two did.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Could we cut this, Madam Mayor?” she growled. “We're all grown-ups. I'm sure you and Robin haven't been crocheting either.” Hook suppressed a chuckle at his sassy Swan, and Regina just quirked a slightly amused eyebrow. “So, we're on our own with this,” Emma summarized. “What do we do now?” 

“Investigate,” Regina replied promptly. “We have to figure out what it is that she wants. She can't leave the boundaries of Storybrooke, so she has to remain around. Obviously, we can't have her roam through the woods forever. We need to resolve this.”

“What do you suggest?” Hook threw in.

Regina pointed at both of them. “You two check the library, try to find out if she has been seen. If not, there's no need yet to create panic.” She leaned forward and threw them both very serious, almost severe glances, every inch the Queen. “Nobody needs to know.”

Emma raised her chin. “I'll inform my parents,” she told her in a no-nonsense voice.

“Of course,” Regina sighed reluctantly, “yes. But apart from them – nobody. If anybody has seen anything, try to calm them down. Find excuses. I think she will hide for a bit anyway. I'll inform Robin to watch out for her but not get in her way if he should see her.”

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Hook threw in sarcastically, “what do we do if we should see her?” He waved his hand between himself and Emma.

“Miss Swan will know how to deal with it,” Regina replied with an ironic smile. “She's The Savior, isn't she?”

“You gotta be kidding me!” Emma protested.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I seem to remember you told me once I had no idea what you were capable of,” she reminded Emma. “Well, sometimes I think you have no idea about that yourself.” Emma just looked at her questioningly, and the former Evil Queen added almost curtly: “It's time you believed a little more in your own abilities, Miss Swan.” Hook smiled to himself at that surprising remark, and Regina put her palms on the table and rose from her chair. “So, we should go ahead without further delay.”

“And what will you do?” Emma asked with a frown.

“I'll go to my vault and fetch her magic staff and a few ingredients for a protection spell we might need. Maybe the answer is in the staff.” Despite her self-confident tone, she didn't look very convinced, and that was when Emma really started to worry.

She and Hook got up, too, but suddenly Emma had a thought. “Wait, what about the kids? We can't leave them alone here!”

Regina clicked her tongue. “Oh damn, I forgot.” She threw Emma a questioning glance. “Maybe your mother...?”

Emma nodded. “I'll call her, fill her in and tell her that you'll drop the boys off at the loft.”

“Good.” With no further ado, Regina went upstairs to get the boys ready, and Emma and Hook left the mansion. 

When they walked towards the yellow bug, Hook noticed that his Swan was very quiet and looked like she was brooding; that worried him.

“Are you alright, love?” he inquired.

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned around to him. “Why were you in the library with Regina?” she blurted out without further preliminaries what had bothered her for the last half hour and looked at him with suspiciously narrowed eyes. “She didn't drag you down there, did she?”

He sighed and looked away from her probing green eyes for a moment, but then fixed his gaze firmly on her face again. “My sole goal then was to see The Dark One dead,” he simply said. Emma pressed her lips together and averted her eyes when she remembered the old, pre-Neverland Hook who had always had his undeniable appeal, but had also been a very sinister, dangerous and unpredictable man with little to no scruples, siding with whoever was more likely to get him closer to reaching his aim; a shiver ran down her spine, and not a sexual one this time. Hook could see what was going on in her head, and he didn't like it. 

He tilted his head. “Emma, look at me,” he urged in that firm voice that never failed to reach her, and her eyes focused on him again. “You know who I was and who I am,” he told her earnestly and waved his hand between them, “I never disguised anything from you.” She kept looking at him, but her expression was unreadable. He drew a deep breath. “I've done a few things in the past I'm not taking pride in remembering, because my mind was set on naught but to kill the Crocodile, to fulfill my revenge.” Emma nodded and looked away again for a moment. He added sincerely: “I wish I could say I regret those hundreds of years spent with only chasing after my vengeance...” Her eyes searched his, questioned him, and he went on in an almost angry voice: “But I can't. Because every decision I ever made, every step I ever took, brought me to the place where I am now and where I belong.” He held her gaze with his, almost willing her not to look away again, and finally added: “Right here, with you.”

Emma's expression was serious, but she didn't seem to close down, so he tentatively reached out and took one of her locks between his fingers, letting it run through them, enjoying their silky touch against his rough fingertips. She raised her left hand and grabbed his, stopping him, and for one awful moment he really feared she might push him away; the thought alone made him cringe inside. But she pulled up his hand and briefly brushed his knuckles against her jaw with a tiny smile. It reminded him of that magical moment between wake and sleep from the previous night when she'd pulled his hand to her lips and confessed into the darkness that she loved him.

"I know," she finally replied, "and I'm glad you're here."

He saw that she was open and sincere and not stepping back from him, and he returned the little smile with one of his own, one of those rare ones that were gone in a second and showed more in the crinkling skin around his amazing eyes than in the curving of his lips; almost as a reflex, triggered by his relief, his fingers closed around hers, and for a moment they just stood there with linked hands and speaking eyes.

Hook was the first to loosen his grip and gently release her fingers. “Sheriff's station?” he asked softly, and she nodded. He scratched behind his ear and sighed. “Well, then let the fun begin.”

When they arrived at the sheriff's station, they almost bumped into David who was just leaving the building.

"Hi, guys," he greeted them, "any news about Zelena?"

"Zelena?" Emma echoed with a frown before she remembered that only an hour ago the still mysterious death of the Wicked Witch had been their first concern. "Oh." She shook her head. "No, the barn seems to be clean. But..."

Her father interrupted her by holding up his hands. "You can tell me all of it when I get back, but now I need to go for a moment. I had a call saying that someone obviously tried to break into the library and must check on that."

Emma and Hook exchanged a glance. David noticed that and frowned. "What?"

"We gotta talk," Emma sighed.

"Why do I have the feeling I won't like this?" David asked suspiciously.

Hook scratched behind his ear. "You're quite perceptive, mate," he commented dryly.

David's gaze shot to him, and he explained: "It's not that someone broke into the library." He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "Someone broke out."

“What?” David's eyes narrowed, and he looked cluelessly to and fro between his daughter and her pirate boyfriend. “What do you two know about this?”

“Someone was hidden... trapped in there,” Emma told him, “or, to be more specific, in the cave under the library.”

David leaned a little forward. “Who?”

Emma opened her mouth, but somehow the name wouldn't come over her lips; it still sounded too absurd to her own ears – although she really should have gotten used to stuff like that by now. A quick sideways glance was all Hook needed to see what was going through her mind. 

“Maleficent,” he helped out, and David's eyes darted to him and widened.

“She is here?” he gasped incredulously. “Since when?”

“You know her?” Emma asked in a surprised voice.

“Everybody knows the mistress of the Forbidden Forest,” David replied in a slightly impatient voice, temporarily forgetting that his grown-up daughter was still new to ll this, and Emma rolled her eyes. “I met her once,” he went on, “wasn't so pleasant.”

“What happened?” Hook wanted to know.

“Rumplestiltskin sent me to hide something... in return, he'd enchant my mother's ring, so it would guide me to Snow,” David told them.

“Hide what?” Emma inquired. “Where?”

“A potion he wanted to be stored away safely.” David snorted. “Inside the belly of a beast. Little did I know that she herself was that beast.”

Emma's jaw almost dropped. “Wait a minute... you stuffed that golden egg inside of that dragon?”

Her father's head snapped around to face her. “What do you know about the golden egg?”

Emma folded her arms. “Gold sent me to retrieve it, and he said I had to use your sword.”

David was totally flabbergasted. “When was that?” he wanted to know; he heard that for the first time, and so did Hook.

“Shortly before I broke the first curse,” she explained. “When Henry was poisoned, Regina and I went to ask Gold for help. He said there was that potion that could help... a True Love potion.” She snorted and folded her arms. “He tricked us and used me, of course. The only purpose of that potion was to bring magic back to Storybrooke; Gold knew I would save Henry and break the curse anyway.”

“Aye, that sounds indeed like my old Crocodile,” Hook commented with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

David waved his hand impatiently. “Anyway, to retrieve that potion, didn't you kill the dragon?” he inquired.

“I thought I did,” Emma nodded. “I stabbed her with your sword, and she kinda... exploded. But obviously, she wasn't dead and transformed into something... something...” she looked at Hook. “You fought her, too. What is that, some kind of ghost?”

“You fought her?” David echoed and scrutinized the pirate closely. Hook shuffled his feet a little uncomfortably under his gaze.

“That was before we went to Neverland,” Emma threw in quickly. “He and Regina went down in the cave, and she... she wasn't a dragon anymore.”

“Human again?” David wanted to know, but Hook shook his head.

“Far from that, mate,” he replied gravely. “She was a ghostly figure indeed, seemingly with no clear contours, but I can assure you...” – he raised his eyebrows and scratched behind his ear – “she was anything but ethereal. Her blow hurt.”

“How did you get away?” David inquired.

“He had help,” Emma replied almost curtly and Hook threw her an affectionate sideways glance. He wasn't particularly proud of the part he'd played in that course of events, and he knew that finding out about the details earlier that day hadn't been something his Swan had exactly enjoyed, but she'd once told him she was tired of living in the past, and that included that she wasn't blaming him for his past. And obviously, she was determined to make clear that nobody else should either.

“Who trapped her?” David asked, having similar thoughts as Emma: whatever way Hook had been involved back then, before Neverland, that had been a long time ago; important was the here and now and the person the pirate had proven to be. “Gold?”

Emma shook her head. “Regina,” she replied. “And obviously, with her ability to perform light magic, some of her dark magic is starting to wear off.”

“And Maleficent was no longer trapped,” David commented grimly. “Oh, the irony. But where is she now? We have to...”

“We saw her,” Hook interrupted, “when we were checking the barn. Luckily, she didn't see us.”

“She disappeared into the forest,” Emma added.

David frowned. “We can't let her stay there! What if she comes back?”

“Regina is going to retrieve her staff from her vault where she keeps it,” Emma informed him. “There must be a way to find out what she wants. Regina says she's dangerous.”

“Oh, she definitely is,” David replied and rubbed his chin. “We have to check the library and see if we can find any hint where she's headed to.”

“And then perhaps go back to the place we saw her last,” Hook threw in, and David nodded. 

“That's what I was going to suggest next,” he agreed and locked the door to the sheriff's station.

Hook tilted his head with a grin and cocked his eyebrows. “Great minds think alike, mate,” he drawled, and while David couldn't help but return the grin, Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Good then, let's go!” she urged impatiently.

Their visit to the library and the cave underneath was only short; except for the broken entrance door there were no visible signs of any unusual activity. In the cave there were no traces whatsoever of any creature having lived there for almost thirty years – no hint to how she'd escaped, and especially no hint to where she'd been going from there. They headed to Zelena's barn where Emma and Hook earlier that morning had spotted the creature that once had been the mistress of the Forbidden Forest.

“Nothing!” Emma huffed in frustration. Not that they'd expected to see her again, but they were not one step closer to the solution to this new magical enigma, and patience had never been one of Emma's bigger virtues.

“We should head back,” David suggested. “Maybe Regina has found out something in the meantime.”

“I agree,” Hook nodded, “the Queen's the most likely one to solve the mystery. It was she who brought her over.”

“Well, it's great that you two agree again,” Emma snapped, jumping on the occasion to let out some of her frustration. David and Hook exchanged a knowing look, and she rolled her eyes. “Sorry, guys, you're probably right. I just wanna...” she clenched her hands to fists, “...do something instead of waiting, waiting, waiting. We've had enough of that with Zelena, and...”

“Swan,” Hook interrupted quietly, and when she threw him a questioning glance she saw that he wasn't even looking at her, but past her.

“Don't move,” David said and looked in the same direction. 

Emma frowned and whirled around. “What the...” she fell silent when she saw the terrifying creature that was Maleficent maybe only twelve feet away from her. Obviously, she'd emerged from the forest without them noticing – or simply had changed her appearance somehow; Hook had called her a ghostly figure, who knew what she was capable of. They didn't know how long she'd been present observing them, but now, obviously, Emma's brisk move had her come to life. She erected herself to an imposing height and at the same time bent her head forward, making screeching sounds, obviously yelling at them.

“Your father said don't move!” Hook growled and drew his sword, and simultaneously, he and David, who had drawn his gun, took three long steps and positioned themselves in front of Emma, obviously having thought alike again.

“They never listen.” David's comment was directed at Hook, not specifying whom he meant by “them”, but in his mind he added: she is indeed stubborn like her mother. 

Maleficent didn't seem to approve of the intrusion of the men, and she hissed at them, her head snapping forward. Hook jumped another step towards her, his sword pointing her direction, and with one swift move she simply swept him aside, and he landed on his back a few feet away with a gasp, losing his sword in the process.

“Hook!” Emma called, but David grabbed her arm.

“Don't – move!” he repeated with more urgency, his eyes fixed on the creature before him. 

Emma's wide, worried eyes were turned to Hook, but she saw to her immense relief that he'd already lifted himself on his elbows. Obviously, the sole focus of Maleficent's attention was Emma; she never stopped making her screeching sounds, although somehow the undertone seemed to have subtly changed. Emma frowned; she had the strangest impression that the creature was actually trying to tell her something. Other than her head that seemed to be swaying from side to side, the ghostly figure wasn't moving at all. From the corners of her eyes, Emma saw that Hook had gotten to his feet again and was scanning the floor for his sword. For a moment she allowed herself the thought Thank God, he's not hurt; then she raised her hand in his direction, and when he looked her way she slowly shook her head and said quietly: “She's not attacking.”

“What does she want?” David muttered under his breath, and for a moment, the creature turned her attention to him and hissed at him angrily, twice. Then, after one last look and screech at Emma, she turned around and disappeared into the forest so quickly that it almost made Emma's head spin; that was maybe due to the absolutely not human-looking way Maleficent was moving.

Hook had found his sword and put it back into its sheath again, his gaze following the disappearing creature for the second time that day. “What in blazes was that?” he murmured.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked and went over to him, tugging at his sleeve when he didn't turn around immediately.

“I don't break that easily, love,” he replied with a wink in his eye, secretly pleased with her display of affection. “What was that?” he repeated.

“I'm not sure,” Emma replied, “but it looked like she wanted to tell us something?”

“Yeah,” David threw in sarcastically, “I could read it from her lips: she wanted to thank you for stabbing her with my sword.”

Hook chuckled and Emma whirled around to her father. “I'm serious! I had the feeling she recognized me or something.”

“Well, unfortunately none of us is fluent in former-dragon tongue,” Hook threw in dryly, “so that lead won't get us anywhere, love.”

“Hrmph,” Emma grumbled. “We have to talk to Regina. Maybe she's found out something.”

“Let's go home,” David agreed.

When they got back to the loft, Mary Margaret greeted them impatiently. "Hey! Any news?” She motioned with her head to the kitchen table. “Regina just got here, too."

"Traces?" the former Evil Queen asked, jumping right to the subject.

Emma shook her head. "No. But we saw her again." She slumped down on one of the chairs and wrinkled her nose a little at the tea cup her mother put in front of her; she would have preferred something stronger right now but didn't want to ask for coffee.

Regina raised her eyebrows. "You saw her? Where?"

"We went back to where Hook and I saw her first this morning, and suddenly she emerged from the forest," Emma told her.

"Did she attack you?"

"Well, she wasn't friendly," David said dryly and went over to the crib to throw a glance at his sleeping son. Mary Margaret smiled and put teacups for him and Hook on the table, too. 

"She approached us," Emma explained a little vaguely.

"Approached...” Regina echoed and frowned. “All of you?"

"I stepped in her way first," Hook threw in and thanked Mary Margaret with a curt nod, "and she just tossed me aside."

Regina smirked. "For once a female you didn't make a lasting impression on."

Hook responded with a grimace and a head tilt. "I must say, this time I'm not dispirited." He motioned his hand towards Emma, becoming more serious. "The lady was obviously more interested in the Savior."

Regina's eyes swept to Emma again. "Is that so? She focused on you?"

Emma shrugged. "Maybe she recognized me?"

Regina tapped her fingertips together and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "And yet, you're still alive... I wonder why."

"Well, I'm happy about that!" Mary Margaret threw in pointedly.

"But Regina is right, mom,” Emma commented. “The question is legitimate. I had the impression she wanted to tell me something."

Regina looked at David. "What about you?"

He had sat down at the table, too. "When she saw me, she seemed to get angry... I think she recognized me, too."

"Too?” Regina frowned. “Have you met her?"

David sipped from his tea. "I had the pleasure," he said grimly, not offering more of an explanation.

"Remember the potion Gold sent me to retrieve from the dragon's belly?” Emma helped out. “When Henry was... well, before I broke the first curse.” Regina flinched a little at the memory, and Emma went on hastily: “Gold had David put it there. Rumpelstiltskin, I mean."

"Why am I not surprised," Regina growled. "However, the fact that she didn't kill you clearly shows she's not after revenge."

"A smart lady," Hook commented dryly.

Emma threw her hands in the air in frustration. "But how can we find out what she's after? Did you find any hints with her staff?"

Regina sighed. "No, nothing. I'm afraid we have to figure that out on our own."

Emma put down her cup with a clattering sound. "But how?!"

"This is all my fault!" David blurted out. "I shouldn't have listened to Rumpelstiltskin. I didn't really need his enchantment, I would have found Snow anyway. It was meant to be." Mary Margaret put a soothing hand on his shoulder, but he barely noticed it.

Regina waved him off impatiently. "Don't be stupid,” she told him haughtily. “Maybe this all was meant to be. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine," she added soberly. 

"Displays of self-loathe won't bring us anywhere," Hook remarked dryly. "We need a plan."

David nodded slowly. "I agree."

Regina rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath: "So what else is new?"

"Easier said than done, if we don't know anything about her intentions," Emma threw in. "I'm sure she was trying to communicate somehow."

"We can't just sit around here and wait to see what happens," David went on in a determined voice. "Tomorrow morning I'll go into the forest and confront her."

Hook raised his eyebrows and leaned a little forward. "That's your plan, mate?" 

"Do you have a better one?" David replied snarkily and the pirate tilted his head in a shrug.

"Well," he said and and tucked his thumb into his belt, "normally, before throwing oneself into a battle it's wiser to find out as much as humanly possible about one's foe, instead of blindly..."

"I'm not going to wait until she comes back to... communicate in a more physical way," David cut him off angrily. He realized that Hook did have a point, but he was also taken aback about the pirate's obvious lack of enthusiasm and that he hadn't offered to accompany him; secretly, David had expected exactly that.

But Hook merely tilted his head and replied: "So be it."

"Fine," Regina commented a little impatiently and rose from her seat. "At least that's something. I'm going to work on a protection spell for Storybrooke, in case that you fail." She turned to Emma. "I might need your help."

Emma nodded with only a little hesitation. "Okay, if you think I can be useful.” She cleared her throat. “Listen, can you take Henry home with you again? I think he's safer in your mansion, just in case."

Regina nodded curtly. "Of course."

Ten minutes later, she was on her way back with the two boys in her backseat. Mary Margaret offered to fix a few sandwiches for dinner, but no one seemed to be really hungry. Hook just finished his tea and then rose from his seat, Emma following wordlessly.

“I'm giving you a lift,” she murmured, her voice sounding a little apologetic. “Tonight I should...”

Hook nodded with a smile. “Of course. Your place is here tonight.” He bent a little forward to whisper in her ear: “Although I know I shall miss you in my bed.”

Emma blushed and slapped him on his arm before she threw over her shoulder to her parents: “I'll be back.”

On the ride to Granny's Emma was unusually quiet and broody. Hook threw her a concerned sideways glance. "Swan? What's going on in your mind?"

She snorted a little. "Well, what do you think?! How many days has it been since the last crisis? Three?"

He rolled his eyes. Here she goes again. "Swan.” He used his best soothing voice. “I know you're upset, but..."

"Damn sure I am!” she cut him off angrily and brought her yellow bug to a halt at the curb in front of Granny's. “I'm sick and tired of this shit! I mean, it's like every week there's a new threat to my family and my home!" Despite the fury in his Swan's voice, Hook was relieved at her choice of words – home. For a moment he'd feared she'd revert back to her 'New York is a better place' way of thinking, but obviously that wasn't the case; despite the situation, he smiled, "What?!" she snapped when she saw his almost serene expression.

He tilted his head to the side. "Not the kind of peril that happens in New York, is it?"

Emma knew damn well what he was hinting at and couldn't help but return a little smile. She shrugged. "Well, we've been in dire straits before, right?"

There was his tough lass. Hook grinned and cocked his head again, his eyebrows quirking up. "Many a time," he confirmed.

She nodded a little grumpily and turned off the engine. "I guess it could be worse.” She snorted sarcastically. “Zelena could be alive and team up with Maleficent..."

He smoothed her hair out with his hook. "Or," he replied quietly, "you could be alone."

Emma looked at him and blinked, while he returned her stare with that minute, barely perceptible smile that meant so much to her. She swallowed thickly, suddenly a lump in her throat choking her when she realized what he was actually saying. “That would be the worst,” she agreed in an almost toneless voice.

For a moment, the silence filled the inside of the small car, the unspoken words – You are not alone anymore – I'm trying to get used to it, bear with me – hanging in the air between them like a fluffy cloud, together with a mutual understanding that didn't really need to be uttered aloud.

Then she plunged forward, grabbing the lapels of his leather coat, like in Neverland; they did come in handy at times. Hook seemed to have foreseen her move in her eyes, because he didn't wait for her lips to touch his before bringing his hand to the back of her head, entangling his ringed fingers in her hair. Their mouths met halfway, colliding in a feverish explosion of tension and adrenaline that had been flooding through their veins for the whole day. She huddled close into him, but the space in the little car was narrow and uncomfortable, the gear stick being in their way. The kiss went on for quite a while, leaving room for little else, but who needed air anyway. 

Finally, it was Hook who broke the kiss, pulling back a little, and murmured against her lips in a raucous voice: "Swan, you really should go now... or else I swear..."

"I know I should," she panted, not loosening her grip on his collar in the least. “But I can't..."

He was breathing as heavily as she was but tried to keep what rest of his composure was left. "Your parents are waiting for you..." he barely managed.

Almost angrily, she was following his retreating mouth with her lips, trying to claim him back. "I'm going back to them," she breathed with urgency, "later..."

There was no point in arguing, and really, who was he to stop her? He heard that little voice in the back of his head, telling him that it wasn't good form to take his lady to bed when he would have to send her away later, but alas, the blood rushing in his veins was pounding so loudly in his ears that the words faded away. His own urgency was rising, and he knew it was about bloody time to take this inside. He caught her wrists with his hand and his hook and firmly pulled them away from his lapels.

Emma looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and frustration, but the green of her eyes darkened quickly when she heard him hoarsely growl: "Upstairs."

In a hurry, they left the car and entered the building by the side entrance leading directly to the stairwell of Granny's B & B. For the third evening in a row, they were heading up the stairs to Hook's bedroom. Two days ago, he'd led the way with careful, nervous steps and Emma had been following him not less nervously. The previous evening then, she'd been the one to go ahead, impatiently waiting for him to follow her. Tonight, Emma was rushing ahead again, but this time she wasn't waiting for Hook to catch up; she had unceremoniously grasped his hand and was simply pulling him with her. 

He was well aware of her impatience, and it thrilled him; he couldn't believe the long way they'd come – she had come – in these mere two days. Not only did it show how much she'd opened up to him and was ready and willing to embrace their budding relationship; but it also showed her very physical desire that was in no way inferior to his. Just as he couldn't get enough of her, she couldn't get enough of him, and it took very little to fan her flames: she was burning for him, just like he'd always thought she would be – maybe also one of the reasons why she'd fought against it for so long... it was very difficult to keep your protecting walls up against someone whose presence made you want to rip your clothes off half of the time. 

The thought that she felt about him that same way, that he had that power over her and that she finally allowed him to have it, elated him immensely and made his blood boil even more. 

When they'd reached the landing, she stopped for a moment to let him catch up and throw him a longing glance. He looked at her and saw that her eyes were glittering with desire, her face was flushed and her lips red and a little swollen from their passionate kissing in the car. He couldn't help it, he just had to push her up against the wall and crash his lips onto hers again. 

Emma gasped at his sudden sensual assault. All the air seemed to be leaving her lungs when she was pressed against the wall by his sheer weight. His left elbow rested against the wall, the hook above her head, and his hand at her chin held her face in place while his demanding tongue invaded her mouth and his lips were devouring her.

She felt like the floor was being pulled away from under her feet; her blood seemed to have been replaced by hot liquid lead pumping through her veins, the boiling heat pooling in her stomach and heading right between her legs. Instinctively, she pushed her hips forward, desperately seeking the contact with the prominent bulge in his tight leather pants. Hook noticed that, of course, and rolled his hips against hers, causing her to make a guttural sound deep in her throat. She tilted her head impatiently to the side to free her lips and gasped breathlessly: "Inside..."

He chuckled devilishly. "Yes, I know that's where you want it." Damn him and his popped 't'.

"Then let's not waste time!" she urged and pushed free from him, moving ahead again and pulling him with her at the same time.

They stumbled more than they climbed up the last stairs, because they both couldn't keep their hands and mouths off of each other, bumping into the wall, almost tripping over their own feet. This time, even though they were kissing frantically, Hook managed miraculously to unlock and open the door to his room in record time. 

As soon as it had closed behind them, all hell broke loose. His heavy leather coat and Emma's red leather jacket landed on the floor immediately, and he grabbed her again and backed her against the door. Her hands entangled in the hair at the back of his neck, while his hand slid under her shirt and glided up over her side, cupping her breast while they continued to kiss like there was no tomorrow. She moaned and arched her back forward to push her breast into his hand, and she felt that he lifted the hem of her shirt with his hook – quickly, but still carefully; the sensation of the cold metal on her skin drove her crazy, like always, and she automatically lifted her arms, urging him to hurry up. The shirt was gone in an instant, and they interrupted their kissing only long enough to pull it over her head.

When she felt his hand at the buttons of her jeans, she lifted one foot from the floor and half pulled, half shook off one of her boots. As Hook was pulling her jeans down over her hips at the same time, she swayed and stumbled and tried to steady herself against him, but the rush of adrenaline and his own raging hormones had made him dizzy and unstable on his own feet, too. Holding on to each other, they lost their equilibrium and fell to the floor, with her landing on her back and him half lying across her.

For a second, they stared at each other in utter silence, then both broke into boisterous, carefree laughter. He pulled off her second boot and peeled her out of her jeans, leaving her only in her underwear now, and God help him, today her bodice and knickers were black. Never before had he seen a lass in black underwear – and he had seen a lot of bodices, and quite profligate ones, in his long life. The sight blew his fuses almost immediately, so sinful did it look. Emma noticed the mesmerized stare from his illegally blue eyes and smiled a sultry smile, very satisfied with the fact that she'd actually managed to surprise him. Never taking his eyes off hers, he slowly hooked his hook into her bodice with an almost demonic, predatory grin, and for a moment her eyes widened and her lips parted.

“Do it!” she gasped, and with one brusque move of his hook he ripped the lacy garment off, his gaze still fixed on her face. The expression on his face shot a bolt of lightning through her stomach that landed right into her core where it made her every nerve end tingle and thrum in eager anticipation.

After having exposed her torso, he bent down and started to worship her beauty and languidly kiss her breasts, one after the other. His scruff was grazing her delicate skin, while he used his mouth and his wicked tongue on her, sucking her nipples into his mouth, carefully tugging at them with his teeth. Emma moaned, entangled her hands in his hair again and arched her back, and the sensation became too much when his expert hand found its way between her legs and started to caress her there through her panties in slow, circular motions.

She simply couldn't take it anymore and pushed him away forcefully with both hands, sitting bold upright. Hook was taken a little by surprise but followed her lead when she unclasped his vest faster than a sharp Northern wind and unbuttoned his shirt with the same urgency. He shrugged off both, and now she pushed him on his back, almost jumping him right away. She lunged forward and started to kiss his throat, his collarbone, his chest... like him, she was almost rough in her impatience, showering him with little bites. He entangled his hand firmly in her hair, and now his back arched; and bloody hell, her greedy little hands were everywhere while she kissed her way down his body. 

When she'd reached the waist of his pants, she didn't think twice before bringing to life the fantasy of hers when she'd first seen the black leather laces holding them up: she used her teeth to undo them, with only a little help of her fingers. While she held one of the laces between her pearly teeth, she glanced up at him with pure lewdness in her emerald eyes, and that gesture held so much wantonness that he felt goosebumps spread all over his body; something he'd experienced seldom enough. 

Deep in his throat, he groaned: “Bloody hell, you're such a wicked siren, Swan...” 

Emma just smiled almost a little smugly, while she pulled his pants down, pulling them and his boots off without any further unnecessary delay, so that he remained completely naked now. Immediately, she grasped his erection with her hot hand and aimed to go for it with her mouth, but Hook knew that wouldn't work this time, not even for one minute, as much as he'd enjoyed her mouth on his flesh the night before. But today, he was already on the verge of exploding. Abruptly, he sat up, using his arms to push himself into an upright position. Somehow, in the process he accidentally scratched her shoulder with the tip of his hook; immediately, it left a red mark on her delicate skin. He was almost shocked about it and wanted to apologize, but she just looked at the scratch, turned her eyes back to him and smiled. 

With a slight shake of her head she just made: “Shhh...” and bent forward, with the unmistakable intention to go down on him again, but he stopped her and took her chin in his hand, pulling her face up to his. 

“Not now,” he gasped and kissed her almost roughly, lunging his body forward and pushing her down again. His voice was a deep, breathless purr. “I need you on your back right now.” 

He pulled down her panties, and Emma eagerly lifted her hips, having become tired of her seduction game herself. She needed to feel him inside her. When he knelt between her legs, she opened them eagerly for him and told him: “Take me like you mean it!”

That demand fueled his fierce desire even more, and he grabbed her left ankle, positioning her leg on his right shoulder. He just had to nudge her right leg with his hook, and she lifted it, resting it on his left shoulder. Then he put both his hand and his hook to her hips and pulled her near, until she was near enough for him to enter her; and demand access he did fiercely, without further hesitation actually taking her and by that giving her what she, what they both wanted and desperately needed right now.

She responded with a barely muffled cry and grasped both his forearms, as she couldn't put her hands anywhere else on him. The moment he had taken possession of her completely, he started to move inside her relentlessly without wasting any time. His thrusts were hard and fast, and she met every one of them with a little push of her hips and a breathless gasp. 

The feeling was intense, but at some point, the connection he felt didn't seem to be intense enough, and he craved, needed to hold her closer, feel her even more. Hook let go of her hips and brought both his hand and hook to her knees, gently pushing her legs down from his shoulders, bending down towards her at the same moment, but never breaking the intimate connection between their bodies. Immediately, she reached out for him with both arms, thinking he was going to lower himself on top of her. But instead, he slid his right arm underneath her arched back and lifted her up in an almost brusque move that made her head spin for one moment.

Taken by surprise, Emma held on to his shoulders. The forceful impact when she landed with her full weight on his lap pushed him so deeply inside like she'd never felt him before, and the sensation was beyond description. Her eyes widened and became a pair of green marbles, and she gasped: "Oh... my God!"

His face was mere inches apart from hers now, and his slightly parted lips curled into a truly wicked smirk. “Killian will do,” he replied smoothly, even if a little breathlessly, and in his eyes danced that devilish spark when he asked in a low, hoarse voice: "Did that feel like I mean it, love?"

She couldn't reply, she could just stare at him with her eyes wide open. His almost diabolical smile turned into a tender one, the forceful thrusting of his hips became more of a soft rolling, and he wrapped his arms closely around her waist, enveloping her in all of his love and passion. Their foreheads rested against each other, and their stares connected; suddenly, the realization hit him that this was the last time they made love before they'd have to face that new crisis, that new, mysterious danger, and he tightened his embrace even more.

Something of that seriousness transpired to Emma, and the feeling of impending danger that had been lurking at the back of her mind the whole day long since the moment she had laid eyes on Maleficent that morning came fully to her awareness. A desperate anger flooded through her mind. Enjoying myself for two freaking days without crisis, more is not possible for me?! But then, Hook's words from before reverberated in her head: it could be worse... you could be alone... And he was right. She was not alone anymore. She had a family now, a home – and a man she loved. Truly, madly, deeply. Beyond any measure or reason. Two days, she thought, for two days only we've been together, and already I can't imagine my life without him. I don't want to. How did I ever live without this?

Her hands were entangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, and while they were constantly moving together, the urge of holding on to him and never again letting him go became stronger and stronger. Emma let her fingers slid down along the sides of his head until she was framing his face with her hands. His stubble was tickling the soft flesh of her palms, and she could feel his facial muscles twitch when his jaw tightened, always a sign for stronger feelings underneath a calm surface, as she knew by now. She caressed the curve of his beautiful mouth with both her thumbs and felt suddenly tears sting in the corners of her eyes.

“Killian...” she managed in an almost breaking voice. 

He slightly shook his head. “Shhhh,” he shushed her, “don't speak. Just kiss me.”

Hook wanted so badly to tell her again that he loved her, and he knew that this time, Emma would have said it back. Not because she would've felt obliged to, but because he could read in her eyes that she was being haunted by the same dreadful feelings like he was – the impending danger that this time, this time could take something away from them they both had never had before. And maybe, just maybe, tying the knot between them as tight and secure as possible could improve their chances of not losing what they'd just found and what was so precious. And for Emma Swan, finally saying those three words to him would be the ultimate and tightest way to tie that knot. But he didn't want it that way – he did want her to confess herself to him finally, yes, but he wanted her to do it out of her own free will, and not out of desperation. He didn't need to hear her say it to know she loved him, after all, and he knew she would say it – but he wanted her to say it for the right reasons.

He brought his hand to the back of her head, gently pulling her in for a long kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself so close to him that the sweat on their bodies mingled. As frantic and forceful as it had begun, as soft and tender did it end, and their shared orgasm washed over them while they were locked in their kiss.

They sat like that on the floor for a while, refusing to let go of each other, to break the connection. Hook's gaze fell again on the red mark his hook had left on her shoulder, and with a pang of guilt he felt the preoccupation that maybe he might have been too rough in the beginning, although she hadn't given him the impression that she'd minded.

He brushed his lips over the faint bruise and murmured regretfully against her damp skin: “I'm sorry if I was too...”

But she stopped him by putting both hands to his face and leaning her forehead against his. “Don't apologize,” she told him firmly, “you were exactly what I needed you to be. You always are.”

He scrutinized her closely and with infinite tenderness in his eyes. “How do you feel, my treasure?” he asked softly.

She just smiled at him, the unshed tears still glistening in her eyes, and answered: “So alive.”

Only very reluctantly, they finally got off the floor, and Emma went to the bathroom to freshen up at least a little before getting dressed again; she had promised her parents she'd be back for the night, and she had to keep that promise. When she entered the bedroom again she found Hook had put on his pants and boots and his shirt again. She just smiled and didn't comment on that; she knew it would have been of no use to tell him he didn't have to accompany her to her car. That was just not what he would have considered to be good form.

With a sigh, she got behind the steering wheel of her beloved little bug and threw him a longing look. He nodded. “I'll be at your place tomorrow morning at 8:00 sharp.”

She smiled. “I never doubted you would.”

Hook tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Your father would be lost without me.”

She slightly shook her head with soft irony. “Right.” Then she looked up at him again more seriously and blinked twice before she confessed in an almost embarrassed, small voice: “I'm gonna miss falling asleep in your arms.” She felt the urge to look away, but in the end, she didn't and was rewarded with that sincere little smile of his that had come to mean more than sunshine and starlight to her.

He gave a barely perceptible nod before he closed the door. “Good.”


	9. As You Wish

 

**As You Wish**

 

It was ten minutes to eight, and Mary Margaret had just fed Neal and held him on her shoulder, slightly patting his back, when a firm knock at the door announced the first visitor of the day. That had to be Hook; she couldn't help but smile at herself when she realized how much that thought actually relieved her. It was a development nobody could have foreseen: when she had met the sly pirate for the first time, she'd taken an instant disliking to him and furthermore despised him with all her heart for his nasty habit to be a real turncoat and side with whoever was more likely to bring him closer to his very own goal. That same quality of his had made her not trust him more than five cents' worth for a long time – and now here she was, trusting him with her husband's life.

 

If only David wasn't so hard-headed... the previous evening, when Emma'd finally gotten back home with a slightly guilty expression on her face and told them Hook would be there the next morning, David had declared firmly that it was something he had to do by himself and that there was no need to put anybody else's life at risk – after all, so he'd insisted, _he_ had been the one to put the golden egg into the belly of the dragon which had led to Emma having to retrieve it, plus it had been _his_ sword that practically had doomed Maleficent to lose her ability to transform into her dragon form again. Mary Margaret and her daughter had just exchanged a conspiratorial glance and left it at that; they knew there was no use in debating with David when he was in that mood. In the end, they were sure, he would do what was the most reasonable thing to do. _And he has the nerve to call me stubborn,_ Mary Margaret thought.

 

The knock on the door was repeated, and she quickly went to open it, the baby still on her arm. It was indeed Emma's pirate boyfriend who strutted inside with his usual swagger when she stepped aside to let him in. “Good that you're here,” she greeted him almost curtly and closed the door behind him.

 

Hook cocked his head to the side and raised a mocking eyebrow. “I always knew you'd take a liking to me, Milady,” he answered in an amused tone.

 

“I've taken a liking to the fact that you're pretty good in a fight,” she replied dryly and rolled her eyes, but somehow he sensed that it wasn't at him this time. Mary Margaret added: “You better be prepared for a hard struggle.”

 

He tilted his head again in agreement. “I daresay that's my natural state, love.”

 

She stepped closer, invading his personal space; he could smell the scent of the baby she was carrying and was a little distracted for a moment. Mary Margaret muttered under her breath, obviously meant only for him to hear: “I'm _not_ talking about the dark fairy.”

 

Hook frowned; but then the prince descended the stairs, and Emma's mother just moved her eyes to her husband and looked back at Hook again. He understood immediately what she meant, and they exchanged an almost conspiratorial glance. He gave a barely perceptible nod, hooked his thumb into his belt and cleared his throat to make himself noticed by Emma's father. David didn't look too thrilled to see him. Mary Margaret stepped back, and Hook understood.

 

“Are we ready, mate?” he asked neutrally.

 

“ _I'm_ ready,” David replied almost grumpily, “but where exactly do _you_ think you're going?”

 

Hook waved his hand nonchalantly before resting it against his belt again. “Why, into the woods of course,” he answered. “We have a dragon to confront – or whatever the bloody hell that thing is.”

 

“ _We_ don't have anything to confront,” Emma's father clarified. “ _I_ do.”

 

“You want all the fun for yourself, and you call _me_ selfish?” Hook asked in a mocking tone, hoping in vain it would lighten up the situation a little.

 

David shook his head. “I'm doing this alone, Hook,” he told him firmly and with a touch of stubbornness to his voice. “This is a personal thing. There's no need to place anyone else in danger.”

 

“It is indeed a personal thing,” Hook growled back. “Or do you reckon it's not a personal thing for _me_ when a nightmarish creature like that is after Emma... or anybody I care about?” David had no answer to that, and Hook rolled his eyes. “See, Dave, this is why I'll never be so much of a traditional hero. I'm lacking one of the most essential qualities you fellows so much excel at: a death wish.” David threw him a furious stare, but he scratched behind his ear and went on: “There's no need for you to do this alone.”

 

David snapped. “This has nothing to do with a death wish!” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I need you to look after my family for me if anything happens to me.”

 

For a moment, the men just stared at each other, and Hook was completely taken aback by this message. Had Prince _you're-nothing-but-a-pirate_ Charming just told him that he entrusted him with the well-being of his family in case that he couldn't take care of them anymore? He swallowed hard, but managed to regain his composure within the blink of an eye. Then – to hide how much the prince's words had actually touched him – he tilted his head in that mocking way of his, raising his eyebrows. “Your wife and your daughter will both have my bollocks if I let anything happen to you, and not in a pleasant way.” He winked, and David gave him the princely death glare. They heard footsteps coming down, and Hook lowered his voice, too. “The best way to look after your family is to make sure that you come back to them!”

 

“I don't need _you_ for that!” David tried again; he had meant what he had said. The thought of leaving his family behind unguarded wasn't a very pleasant one, and to his own surprise, he couldn't think of anybody better for that job than the pirate whom his daughter had fallen for.

 

The latter raised a sarcastic eyebrow at David's last words and remarked dryly: “Aye, like in Neverland.”

 

Emma had descended the stairs and was in full armor – she was wearing her red leather jacket and was carrying Neal's sword. “What about Neverland?” she asked with a frown.

 

Hook and David both whirled around to her. David threw his hands in the air, exclaiming in an exasperated voice: “And what do _you_ think where you're going?”

 

She looked to and fro between her lover and her father and answered, a little startled, because in her mind she was just stating the obvious: “I'm coming with you?”

 

Hook and David barked in unison: “No, you're _not!_ ”

 

Emma raised both hands. “Whoa, guys!” she replied. “I'm glad you two are getting along, but...”

 

David rolled his eyes and slapped Hook's leather-clad shoulder while passing by him, going over to Mary Margaret and the baby. “Your job now, mate,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Emma's incredulous gaze followed him; she shook her head and then turned to Hook. “I'm going with you,” she repeated firmly.

 

He held up his hand in a soothing way. “Swan. You heard the Queen.” He tilted his head and threw her an intense look. “She needs your help here – you need to stay here and protect Storybrooke with your magic.”

 

“Regina can do that alone!” Emma contradicted.

 

“The Queen's light magic might not yet be strong enough,” he told her in an almost imploring voice. “She wouldn't have said she needs your help if she didn't need it.” 

 

“Seriously?” She shook her head in a defiant way. “What do _you_ know about magic?” she snapped. “I can see what you're doing, and I'm telling you I'm coming.” 

 

Hook closed his eyes for a moment and then shook his head in an exasperated, almost infuriated way before he growled: “Bloody hell, Swan! You're the most stubborn lass I've ever...”

 

Emma clenched her hands to fists and raised her voice, blurting out what was really haunting her: “I'm _not_ going to lose you!”

 

For a moment they were just standing opposite each other in silence, the words she had just uttered hanging in the air between them. Hook was touched beyond anything by that open display of her feelings for him. He saw the despair on her face, the same expression she'd had the previous evening when they'd been making love, and it warmed his heart and almost broke it at the same time. He decided to do what he'd always done when he'd seen his Swan in such a weak, vulnerable moment – to play it light. He tilted his head and pursed his perfect lips into a slight smirk.

 

“Please, you've been attempting exactly that for two years, love,” he drawled in a low voice. “Do you really think you're gonna get rid of me that easy now that you've finally stopped trying?” He waved his hand at her to underscore his point.

 

David had said his good-byes to Mary Margaret and his baby son and approached them again. “He's right, Emma,” he told his daughter in a soothing voice. “Your mother and Regina need you here. Hook and I can handle it.”

 

He hugged her briefly and walked to the door without further ado; Emma's gaze followed him, and she asked herself how her parents could handle that – almost all their lives they had had to face danger and been in constant worry to lose each other. And yet – they'd always done what had to be done, and without complaining. She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already out of the door. She turned her eyes to Hook again angrily; standing there in the middle of the room, she felt defeated and was obviously struggling with herself – but basically, she knew the men were right. Yet, she didn't know what to say.

 

Then suddenly, Mary Margaret's voice came from behind her, very firmly: “Killian.”

 

If he was surprised by Emma's mother calling him by his real name for the first time – except for that fondly mocking _Uncle Killian_ when she had been talking to baby Neal – he didn't show it; he just turned his eyes at the princess bandit without moving. When she saw she had his attention, Mary Margaret raised her chin and said quietly: “You bring him back to me.” It wasn't a question or a plea; it was a simple statement – and another display of trust from the Charming family. His jaw clenched for a moment, and that was the only visible reaction he showed. He gave a barely perceptible nod before he simply answered: “Aye.”

 

Mary Margaret acknowledged his answer with an almost curt nod and turned away to give her daughter and the pirate some privacy for their first good-bye in the face of impending danger since Emma had had to leave Storybrooke with Henry, leaving everyone else behind. Hook saw that his Swan had finally given in to her defeat and was ready to let him and David leave, even if she didn't like it. He stepped back from her, denying himself to hug or kiss her; he knew that would make the goodbye even harder for both of them, and he also was afraid he wouldn't be able to leave her if he did that. So, he just gently smoothed out her hair with his hook, like he had done so many times before, and gave her his sincere little smile.

 

“I'm like a bad habit, Swan,” he told her with deliberate casualness in his voice. “I always come back.”

 

Emma's feelings were still in complete uproar, and she snapped almost angrily: “You better!”

 

Hook tilted his head and swayed his arm before him in that light, almost ironic hint of a bow. “As you wish.” And with that, he turned around and followed David out of the apartment, firmly closing the door behind him. Emma stared at the wood like paralyzed, listening to the fading sound of his ridiculous boots on the stairs.

 

“Emma.” Mary Margaret's soothing but firm voice came from behind. “They will succeed.” Emma just nodded, not turning her gaze away from the closed door, as if by sheer willpower she could get it to open again. She felt her mother's hand on her shoulder. “I never thought I'd say that, but they do make quite the team.”

 

 _We make quite the team..._ Those words, uttered by Hook a long time ago on that beanstalk, had proven to be true. He had recognized that from the very first time they had joined forces – even if that had been against her will, and even if his mind had been set on something else then. _I don't mean to upset you, Emma..._ had he ever understood how much it had indeed upset her that she had so much in common with a pirate like him? How much he had gotten to her from the very beginning? Hell, how much it had _disturbed_ her that she'd looked into the handsome, smirking face of a sly pirate whose character she'd only known as a villain from a children's story, and all she'd been able to think had been: _here's finally somebody who understands me..._

 

She thought back to how many fights and perilous situations they had been through together since then; they had confronted sea tempests, deathly mermaids, Peter Pan, forgetting curses, flying monkey monsters, the Wicked Witch of the West and a damn time travel – they had fought all that, and they had succeeded – _together_. They had always had each other's back. Because they _did_ make quite the team. Emma realized that this was the first time one of them had to directly confront danger since they were a couple; but, unlike on those other occasions, this time they were not together. This time, she wouldn't be able to have his back, and that made her feel utterly helpless.

 

The helplessness turned into anger. Really, all that asshole had been able to say had been _I'm like a bad habit, I always come back?_ Didn't he realize what the hell he meant to her? Oh, and then again, of course – his goddamn _as you wish_! Emma knew what it meant, what it had always meant, and she knew he'd just said it in order not to burden their goodbye too heavily in the face of danger. And now the realization hit her like a ton of bricks that _she_ had never told him that she loved him; she knew that he knew it, but still – she hadn't _said_ it yet, and if – _God forbid!_ – anything should happen to him and she had wasted this occasion to tell him, she would never forgive herself.

 

She jumped to the door, yanked it open and ran outside, Mary Margaret's voice ringing in her ears when she called after her: “Emma!”

 

Without slowing down her pace, she raced down the stairs and out of the house; when she reached the street, David had already started the engine of his truck, and Hook had his hand at the handle of the passenger door and was about to open it. Thank God they were still there. Her heart leapt, and she called out: “Hook! _Killian!_ Wait!”

 

He whirled around and stared at her in disbelief, and Emma stood rooted to the spot, maybe ten feet away from him. _Damn that lass!_ He was angry that she made it so hard for him, standing there so stubbornly with her fists clenched to her sides and her beautiful eyes staring at him like two emeralds. Bloody hell, didn't she realize how much willpower it had actually cost him to walk away from her, with the prospect of maybe never seeing her again? He wasn't a pessimist, but he also was no fool; the danger they had to face was real and mighty.

 

“Damn, Swan,” he growled, “do I really have to use the shackles on _you_ this time? If you're not listening to me, then listen to your father!” He pointed inside the car where David was watching what was going on. Hook went on in an upset voice: “I told you, you're not...”

 

Emma's fists unclenched. Her voice was firm and calm suddenly when she said: _“I love you.”_

 

At first he frowned and didn't believe his ears, but the look on her face told him that he hadn't heard wrong, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still, an he stopped breathing. _I love you._ He had known it all along, since he had said those three words to her during their first night – had that only been three days ago? – and seen her reaction to it; he had known that she felt the same but just needed a little more time to confess it in words to him. But to hear her actually _say_ it – and with the clear intention of him _hearing_ it – to see she had taken another step, another leap of faith, almost blew him off of his feet now. Despite the situation of impending danger, his heart felt light and invincible all of a sudden. Their stares locked, and he swallowed hard while a muscle in his jaw twitched and the skin around his blue eyes crinkled a little.

 

Then he tilted his head slightly in that mocking way of his and cocked his eyebrows. “I know.”

 

Emma drew a deep breath and nodded seriously. “Good.”

 

In the car, David looked from his daughter to Hook and then down on the steering wheel, slightly smiling and shaking is head to himself. Hook climbed in the car, and Emma walked slowly backwards, back to the house, and then finally turned around and entered the building without looking back again. It took the pirate a few seconds before he regained his composure, but finally, he turned to David and raised his eyebrows. “Shall we, mate?”

 

He kept his voice deliberately nonchalant, but David had seen the expression on his face and the telltale glitter in his eyes when his daughter had confessed her love to him – on plain day, in the middle of the street. He steered the car on the street and threw at Hook from the side in an amused voice: “Not the romantic type, huh?”

 

Hook scratched behind his ear. “Well, you know me.” His voice was still unusually hoarse. He tilted his head in a shrug. “ _Pirate_.” David threw him a sideways glance and reveled in the pirate's almost embarrassed expression; he thought back to his talk with “Prince Charles” at the campfire in the Enchanted Forest and grinned to himself, shaking his head again.

 

Then he cocked his head, a gesture very similar to Hook's trademark head-tilt, and replied dryly: “Yeah, not you at all.”

 

***

When Emma had closed the apartment door behind her again, she loosened the belt that held Neal's sword and let it drop to the floor. Mary Margaret threw her an understanding glance.

 

“I still think I should have accompanied them,” she complained.

 

Her mother shook her head. “You know they were right, Emma.”

 

Both women turned their heads to the door when another knock was heard. For one heart-stopping moment, they both had the irrational hope that their men were back, but when Emma yanked the door open, Regina, Henry and little Roland were standing there. For a moment, she was taken aback.

 

“Hi, mom!” Henry said and hugged her, then he just walked in and gave the little brown-haired boy a push. “Come on, Roland, let's go to my room. Hi, grandma!”

 

“Uh... Regina,” Emma said, “I was just coming over...”

 

Regina shook her head. “No, we should all be together.” She threw a glance at Mary Margaret. “Family bonds make it much easier to perform light magic,” she added a little reluctantly.

 

“I'll make tea,” Mary Margaret announced with a smile, and Emma opened the door wider for Regina. The former Evil Queen entered the apartment, carrying a huge basket that was covered with a purple velvet scarf – and a huge, slightly crooked wooden staff with a pretty gruesome-looking, horned iron dragon sitting on its top. The dragon had its wings spread and its maw wide open; on its back, between the spread wings, there were pointy bits of glass that looked like remnants of a shattered glass orb.

 

Emma stared at it with her jaw hanging open. “Is that...”

 

“Maleficent's staff,” Regina informed her and shrugged off her coat, throwing it over the back of one of the chairs. “I couldn't leave it at home... too dangerous.”

 

Emma slumped down on a chair. “And you bring it here? But what am I saying. You brought _her_ here.”

 

“Emma.” Mary Margaret cleared her throat while pouring boiling water into the teapot. “Where's Robin?” she asked, directed at Regina.

 

“He dropped us here,” Regina explained. “Then he drove after your husband.”

 

“Really?” Mary Margaret whirled around, the relief on her face palpable.

 

Regina shrugged. “He thought the dynamic duo could use a hand.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes, and Mary Margaret swayed her head. “I hope he is persistent. David barely allowed Hook to accompany him.” She sighed. “He's not very good at accepting help.”

 

“Well, neither am I,” Regina admitted unusually openly, “but let me assure you that never kept Robin.” For a moment, an even more unusual soft expression flew over her beautiful face, before she added: “And I'm sure David is smart enough to understand he needs every help he can get.”

 

Emma huffed, and Regina threw a glance at her. “What is it, Miss Swan, are you worried?”

 

“Of course I am!” Emma snapped. “That thing looked like she could butcher an entire army!”

 

Regina tilted her head. “And she could.”

 

“Great,” Emma growled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “A truly great idea. Why did you even bring her here?”

 

“Emma...” Mary Margaret soothed.

 

“Well, I'm afraid I can't change that now, can I, Miss Swan,” Regina replied arrogantly, “but it's not as bad as you think. Your pirate boyfriend tricked her already once.”

 

“Well, then let's hope your _thief_ boyfriend can indeed be of some help!” Emma snapped angrily.

 

Mary Margaret had had enough. “Ladies!” she said sharply and with the authority of the revolution leader she had been a long time ago in the Enchanted Forest. “ _Not helpful!_ Can we just agree that we all have our men out there and want them safely back?”

 

Emma looked a little guiltily at her mother, and Regina cleared her throat. “Look, Miss Swan,” she said in a more encouraging voice, “I know how you feel.” Emma threw her a sharp glance, but said nothing, and her former enemy went on: “I'm not saying it will be easy to defeat her.” She looked over at Mary Margaret who had sat down with them, putting the teapot and three mugs on the table. “Your father is an excellent fighter. He has defeated me...” – she cleared her throat – “...the Evil Queen a few times already. Then, nobody knows how to sneak safely through the woods like Robin. And your pirate boyfriend...” Emma shot her a glance, but she saw that Regina's expression was far from disdainful this time. “If there's one thing he's always been good at, it's surviving,” she went on. “And now he has something to live for – and believe me, I know how _that_ feels, too.” She exchanged another glance with Mary Margaret who nodded with a slight smile.

 

“Thanks, Regina,” Emma murmured a little reluctantly, genuinely surprised by the other woman's obvious try to make her feel better – she wasn't used to that.

 

To play it light, Regina added a little regal snark on top: “There's nothing that will keep him from coming back to haunt your likes, Miss Swan.” Despite the situation, Emma grinned, and Regina put her palms on the table in a down-to-business way. “Now, should we focus on the main task?”

 

While Regina and Emma were busy working on several protection spells, Robin followed David's car outside the town to the Wicked Witch's barn where they parked. Of course, a little debate ensued, but like Regina had predicted, it didn't take David much to accept Robin's help. They entered the forest where Maleficent had been seen twice before, and not long after that, Robin's men joined them. But even though the men spent the whole day searching the forest meticulously, they never even saw as much as a footprint or any hint that some creature of a non-human form had been roaming through the woods. So, either Maleficent was always one step ahead of them, or – and that was far more worrisome – she lurked behind them. Everybody had the disturbing feeling of being watched and the fear that the creature was only waiting for the right moment to attack – even if so far it hadn't looked like attacking was her first goal.

 

When the night dawned, they agreed that it would make no sense to continue their search. They debated a bit whether it was better to go back home and return the next day, but in the end they agreed that it would be better not to leave the forest. They set up a camp for the night and took turns holding watches in large spiral circles around the camp.

 

When it was David's and Hook's turn to sit by the fire, David didn't waste much time and cleared his throat.

 

“So,” he said brightly, “this is a campfire, we're here waiting for hell to break loose...” Hook turned his head to him and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Tell me about your ship,” Emma's father demanded unexpectedly.

 

Hook was taken by surprise and shifted a little uncomfortably. “Why, you're quite persistent, mate.”

 

David shrugged with a sly grin. “Runs in the family. You should know that by now.” The pirate snorted a little laugh and threw a handful of dry leaves into the fire, but said nothing more. “You said the Jolly Roger is gone, what did you mean?” David inquired. “Didn't your ship take you to New York?”

 

Hook sighed and tilted his head; obviously, there was no way escaping this conversation, and probably tonight was as good as any other moment. “Well,” he drawled a little reluctantly, “she... kind of did.”

 

“But how did you even _get_ there?” David poked further. “I mean, I know your ship's made of enchanted wood, granted – but it still cannot transport you to another world without a portal. You needed a magic bean for that.”

 

“It would appear so,” Hook commented a little reluctantly and scratched behind his ear.

 

“But I thought there weren't any left?” David frowned. “Even for someone as resourceful as you they must be almost impossible to come by! Unless, of course, you'd have something _really_ valuable to t--” Suddenly, he cut off himself, and his jaw literally dropped almost to the floor. He stared at Hook who avoided his gaze by turning his eyes to the fire again and fidgeting with his earring. It took David a few seconds, before he found his voice again, and he said slowly, in utter disbelief: “You traded your _ship_ for a magic bean?”

 

Hook looked at Emma's father again with his head tilted and raised his eyebrows. “It seemed such a good idea at the time,” he replied dryly.

 

David was still shocked by what he had just realized. “But that ship... was everything you had, your home!”

 

Hook peeled an imaginary lint off of the sharp metal tip of his hook and replied quietly: “That it was indeed. For a long time.” He didn't even notice that for the first time in three hundred years he had referred to the Jolly Roger as an  _“it”_ instead of a  _“she”_ . He shrugged. “I reckon when you live as long as I have, one day you come to the point where you realize that's just not enough anymore,” he went on in an almost absentminded voice, as if he was talking more to himself than to Emma's father. 

 

"Why on earth didn't you tell anybody?" David still almost couldn't believe what he had just heard; but then – he knew it shouldn't really surprise him. He remembered the voice of a handsome young prince who had told him at a very similar campfire thirty years ago he'd go to the end of the world for his princess...  _ or time _ . But why had the pirate kept a secret what he had done?

 

"What for?" Hook asked back a little sharply and threw him a sarcastic look. "To make a good impression? Earn me some trust?" He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Now that would have been the selfish thing to do, of course." David grinned a little sheepishly, and Hook went on with a slight shake of his head: "I don't care what people think of me, except for a very few. Kind of a hindrance when you're living a pirate's life." He waved his hand dismissively. "How I got to New York doesn't matter. It was the only way to get to Emma, so it was done."

 

"Does she know?" David asked quietly.

 

Hook's head flipped around to face him, and his jaw tightened, his eyes challenging the other man's. "Only very recently," he pointed out hesitantly and thought: _if the prince insinuates I told her that only to get into her frocks, I'll gladly punch his face, father or not._

 

But obviously, David had no such intention. Much to Hook's surprise, a slight smile creased the skin around his eyes, and he just told him: "You do realize she loved you even before, don't you?"

 

Hook averted his gaze before turning his head and wordlessly pulling out his rum flask, but David had seen a telltale glint in the other man's blue eyes and grinned to himself. "Yeah," he murmured in an amused voice, "as if you'd care... not the romantic type at all."

 

Hook took a swig from his flask and handed it over to the prince. David took it, but didn't drink right away. "You know," he said slowly, "if I had had a say in Emma's choice, I surely wouldn't have picked you." Hook cocked his head silently in a grumpy shrug. "I would have picked a more decent man, a less flawed one," he went on, and Hook's jaw clenched a little while he kept staring into the fire. Yeah, right. _Just a pirate._ Why in blazes did the prince feel the need to revert to belittling him now?

 

"I've learned, however,” David continued with a shrug, “that when it comes to love, there's no choice to be made anyway." He took a slow, thoughtful sip from the flask now, the rum like sweet and liquid fire running down his throat, and went on: "Emma surely could have found a more suitable man." He handed the flask back, and Hook snatched it almost angrily from his hand, when he added almost casually: "Anyway, I doubt she could have found a better one."

 

Hook's head snapped around, at first not sure he had heard right; but the look on the prince's face was sincere, and a twinkle in his pale blue eyes showed that he had just been teasing him before. The prince, being an actual droll? That had been unexpected. For a moment, he looked down and fidgeted with his earring again, not really knowing what to say. Then he decided for the direct way and glanced at David again.

 

“Thanks, mate,” he acknowledged with a serious nod.

 

“I meant it,” David assured.

 

Hook smirked, having found his wits again, and replied pointedly: “I know.”

 

Emma's father chuckled. “I walked right into that one, didn't I?”

 

The pirate cocked his head, his eyebrows twitching in fond amusement. “I daresay we're getting better at it.”

 

David nodded slowly, then he slapped Hook's leather-clad shoulder and winked. “You break her heart, I break your neck, _mate_ ,” he told him brightly.

 

Hook wasn't offended. “Fair enough,” he replied almost solemnly.

 

David hunched his shoulders a little when a sudden chilly wind blew over them and frowned because it seemed to bring a lot of dirt with it. “What the hell is that,” he growled, waving his hand in front of his face. A whirlwind of dust seemed to blow through the camp.

 

Within the blink of an eye, Hook was on his feet and drew his sword. He had seen that before, and he had realized at once that this wasn't just dust. It was _ashes._ David saw his reaction and jumped to his feet, too. “What the hell  _is_ that, Hook?” he repeated while the wind swelled.

 

“Not _what,_ ” Hook replied in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the small swirl of grey ash flakes dancing beside the fire, steadily growing. “ _Who._ ”

 

***

Meanwhile, at Mary Margaret's apartment, the boys were sleeping in Emma's room which seemed more like an adventure to them; especially to little Roland who had developed a clingy fondness for Henry. Emma shared the bed with her mother, and Regina was camping – very un-royally – on the couch.

 

But while Mary Margaret was constantly moving and shifting in her sleep, she  _was_ at least asleep; Emma, on the other hand, kept tossing and turning restlessly, and in the end she got up and quietly left the room, anxious she would wake her mother up. Maybe a hot cocoa would help.

 

When she came to the kitchen, she was surprised to find Regina there, wearing a silvery dressing gown over silk pajamas, sitting at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of tea in front of her. Her hands were playing with the crooked wood of Maleficent's staff that was placed in the middle of the table. Her expression was somewhere between thoughtful and worried.

 

Emma forgot the cocoa and sat down beside her wordlessly. Regina threw her only a short sideways glance. After a while, Emma asked: "Just between us. What do you think will happen? What does she want?"

 

Regina shook her head and sighed. "I have really no idea," she replied soberly.

 

“Why did you really bring her here?” Emma wanted to know, her voice bare of any reproach this time. “You knew she was dangerous and would hate you for stealing the curse. Why not just...” – she pursed her lips and shrugged – “...kill her?”

 

Regina pressed her lips together and kept running her finger up and down the staff. “She was my only friend.” Finally, she looked up at Emma. “I know that doesn't make any sense to you, Miss Swan. It doesn't even make sense to me now.” Emma didn't reply, and almost angrily, she added: “Look, you probably think I should say I regret what I've done in the past, and maybe I should.” She narrowed her eyes. “But the thing is... I don't. I _can't_. If I hadn't done what I've done in the past, I would never have met Henry. Maybe there would even _be_ no Henry.”

 

Emma nodded thoughtfully; funny how Hook had used almost the same words, although his past and Regina's – or the things they'd done – couldn't be compared by far, of course. “I know what you mean,” Emma said slowly, and her former enemy snorted.

 

“Really? How?” she snarled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Emma glared at her. “Do you think I've never pondered over and over what would have happened if I'd kept Henry? Or desperately wished I did?” She shrugged. “But then, nothing of all this,” – she made an all-encompassing move with her right hand – “would ever have happened. I'd never have met my parents, never found out who I really am.”

 

For a while, the two women kept staring at each other; not in a hostile, more in a probing, a searching way. Emma realized that, in an absurd way, she and the former Evil Queen had more things in common than she'd ever thought. Although they were completely contrasting persons with backgrounds and characters that couldn't be any more different, in the end they both had been closed up in themselves, almost prisoners – lost, lonely and homeless. What impact Henry had made on both their lives... her gaze fell upon the remnants of the broken orb on top of the staff. She motioned to it with her head, and Regina's eyes followed.

 

“What happened to it?” Emma asked.

 

“That's where she kept the curse,” the other woman explained. “I had to break it to get the curse. There's nothing else inside, I checked it.”

 

As if magically drawn, Emma touched her fingertips to the sharp edge of the broken glass orb and drew in a sharp breath a second later when her index finger was cut. She put the finger into her mouth when she saw Regina's eyes widen, still fixed on the staff. “What did you do?” the former Evil Queen asked in an urging voice.

 

Emma frowned cluelessly at her. “Nothing, I just...” She fell silent when she saw a faint light reflect on Regina's face and finally looked down at the staff again. Her jaw almost dropped when she saw that it was the staff that had started to emanate that faint, pale light. The edge of the broken glass, where she had touched it and shed a bit of her blood, was glowing the most. She'd be _damned_ if it didn't almost look like the glowing of the glass wand down in Rumple's vault, the one that had reopened the time portal for her and Hook to return home.

 

“Do it again,” Regina commanded sharply, “touch it.”

 

Emma's eyes were widened in disbelief, her hands twitching on the table. Regina took her wrists and guided them firmly to the staff, letting them hover over the crooked wood where she loosened her grip. “ _Touch – it_ ,” she repeated.

 

Emma didn't really know what to do and spread her fingers, her palms still hanging about two inches above the magical staff; she felt a weird tingling on her skin that she couldn't find accurate words for to describe. She had felt a similar thing only on very rare occasions – those few times she had actually performed magic with her _hands_ – but never as strong as now. She drew a deep breath and lowered her hands on the object until her skin was lightly stroking over its rough surface. The rugged wood seemed to glow from within, and a warmth transpired between Emma's hands and the staff. Suddenly, one by one, letters appeared on the staff, forming words...

 

“What the hell is that?” Emma gasped.

 

Regina stared at the staff incredulously and squinted her eyes. “Words,” she murmured and looked closer. “Wait. It reads... _The closest friend will cause torment, but... but... only who defeats your deadliest form is meant to reunite you with what you love the most._ ”

 

She looked up at Emma again who took her hands away from the staff; the light faded away within instants, and so did the letters. “What does that mean?” Emma demanded to know.

 

“It's a prophecy,” Regina replied quietly.

 

“A prophecy?” Emma echoed. “Well, great, but what does it _mean?_ ”

 

Regina looked at her. “ _ A close friend will cause torment _ – that would be me, obviously,” she explained dryly. 

 

“Okay...” Emma nodded. “And what is it she loves the most?”

 

“That must be her unicorn,” Regina replied, and Emma's eyes widened again in disbelief, but she said nothing when the other woman shot her a severe glance. “She has a unicorn. She had it in her castle,” Regina explained. “Rumor has it that it's not really a unicorn, but someone very dear to her who has been cursed never to walk in human form again. Nobody knows who it really is. But I do know she risked her life to defend it.”

 

“But wait...” Emma raised her hands. “When you cast the first curse... why wasn't it transported to Storybrooke, too?”

 

Regina nodded. “That's a good question, Miss Swan.”

 

Emma frowned. “Okay... so – whoever defeated her in her deadliest form is meant to reunite her with her...  _ unicorn _ .” She hardly could bring herself to say the word; even after two years of being the Savior, some things still seemed absurd to her. “But who – and how?” she asked.

 

Regina rolled her eyes. “Well, I have no idea about the  _ how _ ,” she admitted, “but the  _ who _ is pretty obvious, isn't it?”

 

Emma leaned a little forward, her eyes big and full of question marks in her clueless face. “It is?”

 

“Miss Swan,” Regina huffed, her patience with that much ignorance wearing thin. “Wouldn't you agree that the dragon was quite a deadly thing?” Emma's jaw dropped, and Regina nodded. “ _You_ defeated her. The prophecy is talking about _you_. That's why she approached you without even attempting to harm you. She doesn't want revenge, she wants your help.”

 

“But how can I possibly help her?!” Emma gasped. “I didn't even know about her unicorn until just now!” She frowned. “It's not here, is it?”

 

“Of course not.” Regina shook her head. “Even if it was in the woods – someone would have noticed it during all those years.”

 

“But then – what happened? Why is it not here?”

 

“I don't know!” Regina almost snapped back, then she drew a deep breath. “Look, I know you probably think I should know everything about this because of who I am...”

 

“Was,” Emma corrected matter-of-factly, and the other woman threw her a surprised glance and cleared her throat.

 

“Anyway,” she went on, “I'm afraid I don't have all the answers. I don't know why Maleficent's unicorn was not transported to Storybrooke when I cast the curse. Something must have happened to it before.”

 

Suddenly, Emma stared at her with wide eyes. “But _she_ must know!” she gasped.

 

Regina nodded slowly. “You'd think so,” she agreed. “But, unfortunately, she can't communicate, remember?” She raised a chastising eyebrow.

 

Emma's intense gaze bore into her brown eyes. “Not as long as she's not human,” she said almost triumphantly.

 

Regina frowned. “What are you saying?” Emma just tilted her head and threw the former Evil Queen an almost challenging look. “ _No!_ ” Regina thundered when it dawned on her what she meant. “You can't be serious!”

 

Emma leaned forward eagerly. “But it's the only way to find out how to resolve this! I have to talk to her!”

 

“It's too dangerous!” Regina contradicted.

 

“It always is!” Emma threw back at her and huffed in exasperation. “If I have learned one thing since I've joined this... this... _this_ ” – she waved her arms in an all-encompassing way – “then it's that there's never an easy solution. I have to dot it.” She reached out for the crooked wooden staff, but Regina snatched it away.

 

“I can't allow this!” she declared firmly.

 

“Regina,” Emma replied in an urging voice, “you know I'm right. There is no other way.” She reached out for the staff again.

 

Her former enemy looked down at the magic staff she was clutching with her hands. “This,” she said gravely, “will not only restore her ability to transform into a human form again, but it will give her enormous power.”

 

“I know,” Emma said and nodded, then shrugged. “At least I think I do. But as you said, if she wanted to kill me – or anyone – , she could have done it easily. According to the prophecy, she needs my help, right?”

 

“Right,” Regina agreed reluctantly.

 

Emma tilted her head. “Well, then she better not hurt me or anyone out there.”

 

Regina couldn't help but admire the sheriff's gumption; that had always been something she respected – as much as Emma Swan had never shown to be afraid of her, she had never been afraid of anything or anybody else; even before she knew she was the Savior. “I don't like this,” she growled.

 

“I'm not crazy about it either,” Emma admitted matter-of-factly, “but if I fail, you can always...” – she waved her hands again – “...do whatever you do to save the day.” Slowly, she rose from her seat. “I'm gonna get dressed.”

 

Little more than five minutes later, she came down the stairs again, fully dressed and approached the kitchen table. This time, when she reached out for the magic staff, Regina didn't object and let her take it; it seemed to thrum lightly in her hands.

 

“Any bits of advice?” she asked.

 

Regina threw her a serious look. “Be careful,” she just said.

 

Emma nodded and left the apartment without another word. When the door clicked shut behind her, hurried footsteps came down the stairs, and Mary Margaret's alarmed voice called: “What is happening here? Emma?”

 

Regina rolled her eyes and got up from her seat. “We found out something...”

 

“Where did my daughter go?” Mary Margaret asked sharply and threw Regina a threatening glance.

 

“To the woods,” the former Evil Queen replied a little hesitantly. “We discovered what Maleficent wants, and...”

 

“No!” Mary Margaret exclaimed. “I can't let her...” She was heading for the door, but Regina quickly blocked her way.

 

“She knows what she's doing,” she tried to soothe, “and it has to be done.”

 

“Out of my way, Regina,” Emma's mother almost hissed and tried to walk past her.

 

“Miss Blanchard,” Regina said severely and blocked her again, “Mary Margaret!” But she would not listen, and a desperate determination was showing on her face. Regina grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. “ _Snow!_ ”

 

Mary Margaret turned her eyes at her, and Regina could see the horror and despair on her face. She drew a deep breath. “Your daughter is one of the bravest women I know,” she told her. “And her magic is more powerful than I've ever seen in someone who is not a fairy.” She shook her head. “Not even I managed to defeat her, and God knows I've tried.”

 

Mary Margaret drew a deep breath. “When this is over,” she finally said, “I want you to teach her how to use it properly.”

 

Regina looked at her stepdaughter and nodded. “I think she's worth my time,” she replied.

 

***

It wasn't really a battle that was going on in the woods between a ghostly, weirdly bodiless Maleficent and the men; it was more of a circling each other. David and Hook were side by side with their weapons pointed at the monstrous ashen creature who was almost dancing on her grotesque limbs. Robin and his men had positioned themselves in a semi-circle around them. Sometimes one would make a step ahead, then Maleficent screeched and hissed, but otherwise she didn't really make a move.

 

“What is it you want?!” David's voice thundered through the forest. “This has to end!”

 

Hook inclined his head to the side. “I hate to break the news to you, mate,” he said dryly, “but I doubt this lady will reveal anything to you.” The creature swayed her head in Hook's direction and hissed at him. He told her: “I always appreciate a woman who speaks her mind.”

 

“I hate to break the news to _you_ , mate,” David replied with sarcasm in his voice, “but your smooth talk isn't very likely to impress her.”

 

Suddenly, a strong female voice echoed through the woods. "Hey! Maleficent! I'm here!"

 

The creature swirled around, and so did both men, looking in the direction of the voice so well-known and dear to them.

 

"Emma!" David gasped incredulously. "What the hell..."

 

" _Swan!_ " Hook called. "No!"

 

“It's okay,” Emma replied to them, not taking her eyes off the creature. “Stay where you are. I know what she wants. She's not gonna hurt me.”

 

Hook and David exchanged a glance and a barely perceptible nod; as much as they had to suppress the strong urge to run over to Emma and protect her, they also trusted her judgment. Obviously, she knew more than they did, and if she said it was alright, then it probably was.

 

Maleficent hissed and approached Emma who was holding up one hand, showing the ghostly creature her palm in a soothing way. "I know what it is that you want!" Emma called firmly and flinched a little at the sight of how huge the shadowy figure had grown; Maleficent seemed to be swaying back and forth like ridiculously gigantic reed in the wind, and that made Emma a little nervous because her moves looked very unpredictable. "I know about the prophecy," Emma called firmly, "I'm here to help."

 

"Prophecy?" David echoed, and Hook frowned.

 

"I don't like that at all," he growled. Both men stepped slowly forward, in Emma's direction.

 

“I'm here to help!” Emma repeated and held up her other hand, and the men saw that she was holding a huge, crooked wooden staff. The ashen creature gave a sharp screech.

 

“Bloody hell,” Hook murmured. “I really hope she knows what she's doing.”

 

“Emma,” David warned. He, too, had recognized what she was holding in her hand and holding out to Maleficent now.

 

“We need to talk,” Emma said slowly, directed at the creature, and hunched down to place the staff carefully on the moss-covered ground. Then she stood up again and took a few steps backwards. Hook and David rounded Maleficent in a wide circle and joined Emma, standing to both her sides now. David squeezed her shoulder lightly, and Hook touched his hook to her hip.

 

“What prophecy?” he asked under his breath.

 

“Regina and I found it on the staff,” Emma replied. “Looks like I'm the one who is to reunite her with what she loves the most...”

 

Hook rolled his eyes. “Wonderful.”

 

“And what is it that...” David started, but then he fell silent when he watched what was happening in front of them. The creature seemed to shrink to the size on an actual human and bent forward, never ceasing its screeching and hissing sounds that were inhuman enough to chill one's blood. She reached out for the staff with both her ghostly arms, and the moment she seemed to touch it, it was like she dissolved into a whirlwind of ashes so dense and whirling in a dizzying speed that for a few second nobody could see anything but a dark grey swirl.

 

“What the hell...” David murmured, and then the ashen cloud cleared slowly. He recognized immediately what he saw.

 

Emma on the other hand hadn't expected to find herself standing opposite a gorgeous blonde woman with full lips and the most beautiful grey-blue eyes. She was wearing a voluminous purple gown made of some sheer material and a glittering head piece in the same color; the artfully crafted head piece ended in two wrought horns. She held the staff in her right hand and raised her chin almost triumphantly. Slowly, she took a step nearer and let her gaze sweep over the three of them, a diabolic smile curving her mouth.

 

Then she drawled in a surprising melodious voice: “Well, well, well... whom do we have here?”

 


	10. Come Back To Me

 

_ **Chapter 10:** _

_**Come Back To Me** _

 

“Isn't that the charming prince... the fierce sheriff... and the versatile pirate.” Maleficent smiled at each of them, and in some way she reminded them all of the Evil Queen, even if she was a completely different type; but just like Regina, she was extraordinarily beautiful, haughty and elegant – and very, very dangerous. That her intentions were not really clear to neither of them, didn't help.

 

“I'm here to help,” Emma said for the third time, and despite her nervousness her voice was still firm.

 

“So, I presume this time you're not planning to stick a blade into my body?” Maleficent commented, the sarcasm dripping from her lips like venom from the fangs of a deadly snake.

 

“I would say I regret what happened at our first meeting,” Emma replied, “but I did it to save my son's life. I was told I needed the potion that was hidden inside your...” she motioned vaguely towards the other woman, not able to bring herself to say _“inside your belly”_.

 

The sorceress' grey blue eyes flickered briefly with interest, and she raised her eyebrows. “And did you save him?” she asked.

 

Emma nodded. “Yes. But as it turned out, the potion wasn't needed for it. I was tricked. So, I guess I should apologize.”

 

Maleficent raised her chin. “Don't,” she replied curtly. “I would have done the same. There's nothing more important than to save a child's life. How did you do it?”

 

Emma shuddered at the memory; never before had she felt that terrible sense of loss like when she'd seen her ten-year-old son dead in his hospital bed – not even when she'd given him away right after giving birth to him. “With True Love's Kiss,” she answered a little reluctantly, and Maleficent tilted her head, eyeing her curiously.

 

“Now that's interesting,” she commented thoughtfully and tapped her index finger to her full lips. “True Love's Kiss doesn't always work. You must be very special... and _loved_." She motioned her blonde curly head graciously to Hook and David who were standing on either side of her. Without being aware of it, both men simultaneously moved closer to Emma, never taking their watchful eyes off the sorceress for a second; ready to strike her at their own peril to defend Emma, if necessary. "So, you know about the prophecy," the tall woman went on after a little pause. "How?"

 

"It's written on the..." Emma motioned to the crooked wooden staff.

 

"It is indeed," Maleficent nodded, "but not visible just for anybody." She leaned a little forward, like she had done when she'd still been in her ghostly form. The move wasn't less imposing now that she was a beautiful woman instead of a screeching ashen monster. " _How?_ " she repeated with a slight threat in her voice.

 

Emma didn't falter though. "I touched it, and the words appeared," she explained firmly.

 

"Well, well," the sorceress replied in an almost amused tone, "you have magic then." She tilted her head. "You didn't have any when we first met... or you didn't know about it."

 

"I barely knew  _anything_ when we first met," Emma retorted dryly.

 

"And now you do?" Maleficent asked, irony coating her voice.

 

Emma raised her chin. "Yes," she answered without hesitation, and both men on the left and on the right of her threw her appreciative sideways glances.  _That's my baby,_ David thought proudly.  _That's my Swan,_ Hook thought, not less proudly.

 

Maleficent raised a perfectly curved eyebrow. "Hardly," she contradicted. "You haven't even scratched the surface yet. But now at least you know who you are. And you accept it." She cocked her head in a barely perceptible nod. "I like that."

 

Emma raised her hands. "Just tell me what I am supposed to do now."

 

"Ah, all down to business? I like that, too." She tapped her staff lightly to the floor. "Let's see. What do you know about the prophecy?"

 

Emma shrugged. "Only that I'm obviously the one destined to reunite you with what you love the most..." She hesitated for a brief moment, then added tentatively: "Your unicorn?"

 

A shadow flew over Maleficent's gorgeous face, but she masked it quickly and snarled: "Who told you that – Regina?" Emma nodded, and the sorceress snorted sarcastically. "Of course."

 

"What happened?" Emma asked quietly. "No unicorn has ever been seen here in Storybrooke, so obviously, it wasn't transported here by the curse. Something must have happened to it before Regina cast the curse."

 

Maleficent nodded. "The prophecy was delivered to me shortly before the Dark One created that curse and gave it to Regina," she began her tale.

 

"Delivered?" Emma echoed. "By whom?"

 

The other woman waved her off impatiently. "A seer, of course, who else?" she snarled, and Emma rolled her eyes.  _Of course,_ she thought grimly.  _Well, sorry, but I'm still new to this._ Maleficent went on: “When Regina came to me and traded the Dark Curse for something else...”

 

“She _traded_ it?” Emma blurted out with wide eyes. “For what?” 

 

Maleficent narrowed hers in return. “Would you be so kind as not to  _interrupt_ me?” she growled, a  _very_ clear threat in her voice now. “It is of no importance. Let's focus on the things that are, now shall we?” Emma swallowed and fell silent. “Why,  _thank_ you,” the sorceress commented pointedly. “Anyway, the mere existence of the Dark Curse froze me with fear... and I knew Regina was the one who was to cause me torment.”

 

“Why?” Emma asked. “I mean, how did you know it wasn't someone else? I find it a little hard to think of Regina as anybody's _closest friend_.”

 

Maleficent smiled; a sarcastic, sad smile – and for a moment, her eyes seemed to drift off into a distance far away, long ago maybe. “She was my only friend,” she simply said.

 

Emma swallowed. “Regina said the same about you.”

 

The moment of weakness was gone, and Maleficent straightened her back. “How touching,” she snarled.  "Anyway," she went on, "with the Dark Curse in the world and that prophecy threatening me, I knew I had to do something to save my..." she left the sentence hang unfinished in the air and cleared her throat. "So, I decided to cast a protection spell to prevent it from harm through the Dark Curse... or any other curse." She pressed her lips together and nodded, for a moment, her gaze lost in some faraway distance again. Emma wanted to ask what kind of protection spell that had been, but she didn't dare to interrupt the other woman's train of thoughts another time. After a few moments, Maleficent focused on her again. “I cast a spell that would be triggered by the Dark Curse,” she went on. “My unicorn would be transformed into an inanimate object and hopefully not be transported to...” – she waved her hand in an all-encompassing way – “...this world.”

 

Emma threw a quick sideways glance at Hook; he raised his eyebrows, and she slightly shook her head. They both had had the same thought, and also David was thinking about Gold's shop full of things that had been transported to Storybrooke despite them being inanimate objects. But there was no need to tell Maleficent that and upset her, maybe unnecessarily.

 

“But I don't understand,” Emma threw in after a short hesitation, “how could you expect to... I don't know, find it again if you didn't know what kind of object it would transform to?”

 

Maleficent rolled her eyes at that much ignorance. This woman really didn't know much about magic yet. “Of course I had to determine the form it would take later already when I cast the spell,” she explained impatiently.

 

Emma leaned a little forward. “And what form was that?” she wanted to know.

 

“Now that is the weird part,” the sorceress told her slowly, and Emma suppressed an ironic snort. _Really?_ “I had a vision,” Maleficent continued, “an exact vision of what it should be like.” Emma raised her eyebrows, but said nothing, although she badly wanted to shake the other woman in order to precipitate her tale a little. “A little glass figurine of a unicorn, with a long wrought horn and raised tail.”

 

“Glass?” Hook echoed in a doubtful voice, speaking for the first time since Maleficent's transformation into human form. All eyes turned to him. “I'm sorry, Milady, but wasn't it a bit unwise to choose a form that could be so easily crushed?”

 

“I said I had a vision,” Maleficent snarled, “you don't _question_ a vision, pirate. You _follow_ it.”

 

Hook tilted his head and raised his hand in a soothing gesture; then, his attention was drawn to Emma and her father who exchanged meaningful glances. Maleficent had noticed it, too and frowned. “Swan?” Hook asked.

 

“What?” Maleficent inquired sharply. “ _Speak!_ ”

 

“We've seen unicorns like you described,” David said, and her head snapped around to him. “We put them up on a mobile and hung them above Emma's crib in the Enchanted Forest,” he explained. “But that was before the curse was cast.”

 

“So, hers can't be amongst them?” Hook asked.

 

“Wait,” Emma threw in, “how many were there?”

 

“Twelve,” David replied without hesitation. 

 

Slowly, Emma shook her head. “But when we saw them in Gold's shop I counted thirteen.”

 

“That's impossible,” David contradicted. “I put them up myself, I would know the exact number.”

 

“Believe me, there _were_ thirteen,” Emma insisted. “Because I thought you could have chosen a luckier number.”

 

“Nonsense!” Maleficent interjected sharply and pointed her index finger at Emma like a knife. “Are you two trying to trick me? How would _you_ know that if you've never slept in that crib?!”

 

“Because I saw them here, in Storybrooke!” Emma replied. “Many items have been brought over with the curse, hell, there's an entire shop full of that stuff!”

 

“If there are really thirteen figurines now,” David added, “one must have been added, because I definitely put up only twelve. It must be yours.” He nodded his head towards Maleficent.

 

“Prove it,” she replied coldly and raised her chin at Emma. “Bring it here.”

 

“You'll have the proof in less than half an hour,” Emma promised and started to walk away in a hurry.

 

“Stop!” Maleficent hissed and pointed her staff threateningly at Emma who whirled around to her again, staring at her in surprise.

 

“But you said...”

 

“Not like that,” the sorceress commanded. “Nobody's going anywhere.”

 

She raised her hands in a clueless move. “But how am I supposed to...”

 

“You have magic,” Maleficent replied and smiled a snake-like smile. “It's time you put it to good use.”

 

Emma's jaw dropped. “But I can't...”

 

“Swan,” Hook interrupted quietly and nudged her arm with his hook, “you can do it. You did it with my hook, you'll surely be able to do it with that tiny thing.”

 

She whirled around to him. “But that was different!” She muttered under her breath, almost a little angry that he'd contradicted her. “Your hook was in the same room, and this is...”

 

But he wasn't going to hear her out; as usual, his confidence in her and her abilities had no bounds. “You – can – do it,” he repeated and tilted his head in an encouraging nod. “Have faith in yourself.”

 

“How cute,” Maleficent remarked, a malicious smile curving her lips. “You better listen to your beau. _Now_.”

 

Emma's wide-eyed stare wandered from Hook to David – who nodded at her, too – and finally rested on the sorceress' face who was watching her with probing eyes. She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, concentrating hard... but on what, she didn't really know. Should she try to summon up all the unicorn figurines that were in Gold's shop? Or focus only on one of them? She wasn't even sure where in his shop Gold kept them. A slight wave of panic washed over her when she realized she had no idea what to do and how to do it... why hadn't she focused more on practising with Regina? But then suddenly she remembered what Gold had once said to her:  _“_ _ Stop thinking! Conjuring magic is not an intellectual endeavor... it's emotion. You must ask yourself "why am I doing this, who am I protecting?" Feel it!” _

 

And she recalled how she'd already put that advice to use – when she'd snatched Henry from Zelena's stranglehold without even touching him, and before, in Neverland, when she'd made Neal's coconut work at Dark Hollow to capture Pan's shadow and save Hook. On both occasions, she hadn't concentrated on any technique at all – she'd been all raw and pure emotions, and all she'd focused on had been the urging and instinctive need to save her endangered loved ones, and suddenly her magic had worked all by itself. Nothing else was required now: she needed to help Maleficent in order to save her family and her home, and that was exactly what she directed all her thoughts, her  _feelings_ to.

 

Suddenly she felt a thrumming warmth at her hip, and her eyes popped open. It took her a few seconds to realize where the sensation originated from, and then she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket. Her jaw almost dropped to the floor when she felt the smooth, polished glass figurine in her hand. She pulled it out and held it wordlessly out at Maleficent on her open palm, not even hearing how Hook muttered under his breath: “That's a good lass.”

 

Maleficent drew in a sharp breath and fixed her eyes almost longingly on the small object on Emma's hand. “Very impressive,” she murmured, but didn't take the small glass figurine from her. “How do I know this is really the right one?”

 

“Because of the prophecy!” Emma replied. “Am I not the one to reunite you both?” She stretched out her arm almost impatiently.

 

“Oh yes,” Maleficent retorted, “but it wasn't defined how. For all I know, this could be any of the other figurines you mentioned.”

 

Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes. “Well, there's only one way to find out, right? You have to... to un-cast your original spell and transform in back into a real...” – she almost stumbled over the words because they seemed so absurd – “...a real unicorn.”

 

Finally, the sorceress took the figurine from Emma with a tilt of her head. “That's exactly what I intend to do,” she agreed. “But I can't do it here. I have to go home.”

 

“What?!” Emma blurted out. “By _home_ you mean...?”

 

“The Enchanted Forest,” Maleficent confirmed Emma's suspicion.

 

“Bloody hell,” Hook commented.

 

“But... but... why can't you do it here?” Emma inquired cluelessly. “You have your staff, you have your magic...”

 

Maleficent leaned a little forward in that menacing pose again. “I see you have still so much to learn about magic!” she sneered. “Do you think a spell that complicated is easy to perform? Or to reverse?” She shook her head. “I need several ingredients for that, and most of them can't be found here, in this world. I have them at my castle.”

 

Emma threw her hands in the air. “But then we're busted!” she exclaimed. “We don't have any means to get there!”

 

Maleficent smiled. “Oh, but you do,” she contradicted, and Emma gasped.

 

“What?!”

 

The sorceress nodded. “You're going to open a portal for me.”

 

Emma shook her head in disbelief. “With all due respect, but...”

 

“This,” Maleficent interrupted and held out her staff, “is one of the most powerful wands in all the realms, and it can be made work only by someone with the utmost power and strongest light magic.”

 

“So?” Emma replied cluelessly. “Aren't _you_ something like... the mistress of that wand?”

 

Maleficent nodded. “Indeed, I am. But let's just say that my ability to perform light magic... isn't that distinct.”

 

Emma raised her hands. "But I'm not..."

 

"We're going to do it together," Maleficent said firmly and held her staff out in Emma's direction. "Take it."

 

She took a hesitant step nearer, but didn't reach out for the crooked, mighty staff. "Are you sure this is going to work?" she asked doubtfully.

 

" _Take it!_ " Maleficent repeated in a commanding voice, and Emma threw a nervous glance over her shoulder, her eyes brushing over David and Hook and finally locking with his. Wordlessly, he nodded, and Emma drew a deep breath and slowly reached out with both hands. She wrapped her fingers around the rough wood, and immediately she felt a vibrating warmth flowing through her palms into the wood. Maleficent held on with both hands, too, and the bottom of the staff rested on the floor. It felt like the wood had come to life in her hands.

 

David and Hook were mesmerized while they watched what was happening; although they both had seen Emma perform magic before, this had to be the most impressive display by far. A glow emanated from the wood and seemed to envelop both women, a light that increased by the minute. And then, suddenly, the ground opened, and an abyss appeared, accompanied by an almost deafening swooshing sound. Both David and Hook held their breath; David had seen that kind of an open portal before, and it had been a traumatic experience when Mary Margaret and Emma had both fallen through. Hook, of course, had had the pleasure himself, and more than once.

 

Emma and Maleficent both stepped back from the vortex, while Emma let go of the staff. "And now?" she called.

 

Maleficent looked at the glass figurine in her hand. "Now we're going," she answered.

 

Emma could barely hide her relief; she really hoped that everything would work out for the sorceress. "How will I know if it worked?" she asked.

 

Maleficent looked at her and smiled. "Oh, you will," she replied and suddenly swung her staff in a wide, circular motion; Emma heard a strange, clattering sound, and out of the blue Hook and David were wrapped from shoulders to hips in iron chains.

 

"What the hell...?!" both men gasped in unison.

 

"Wait, what are you doing?!" Emma called.

 

Maleficent tilted her head. "Just taking a little pawn with me, to make sure you're not trying to cheat on me."

 

"I'm not!" Emma replied, panic in her voice. "Why would I? Let them go!"

 

"I will," Maleficent answered, "once I have the proof that you really brought me the  _right_ unicorn."

 

Emma jumped forward, but with one move of her hand, the sorceress had put up an invisible barrier, and it felt like Emma had bumped against a glass wall. She saw that Hook and David were struggling against the chains, but without any success. "No!" she exclaimed desperately. "Free them! I'm going with you instead!"

 

"Someone you love in exchange for someone I love," Maleficent declared firmly. "That's only fair."

 

Emma pounded against the invisible barrier with both her fists. "No!" she cried again. The abyss in the ground swooshed perilously, and she thought of the horror she'd felt when she had been dragged into the time portal only four days ago.

 

"If you have been honest with me," Maleficent said clearly, "you have nothing to fear. I solemnly swear I will send them back to you before night dawns again. If you lied to me..." she tilted her head, "...I will send back what's left of them."

 

"Swan better picked the right one," Hook muttered dryly under his breath to David.

 

"But how will you send them back?!" Emma yelled against the thundering wind. "This portal will close as soon as you've gone through, and you can't reopen it just like that!"

 

"I have my means," Maleficent assured. "I promise I will do what I said, and the Mistress of the Forbidden Forest has always kept her promises."

 

"We'll be alright, Emma!" David called, not wanting her to worry, although he wasn't that confident at all.

 

"We'll be back sooner than you know, Swan," Hook added.

 

Emma clenched her fists. "Wait!" she called. "I..."

 

"Enough time wasted," Maleficent declared and swung her staff again, and then everything happened fast. She and the men were swallowed by the abyss in the ground, and the invisible barrier vanished. Emma stumbled and fell, and within the blink of an eye, the ground was closed again and looked like it had never been open. The silence was deafening.

 

"No!" Emma yelled. "Killian! Dad!" But they were both gone.

 

She felt a strong hand on her arm, pulling her to her feet. When she looked up through tear-fogged eyes, she saw Robin who had dared to approach now. "They're gone!" she panted. "She took them!"

 

"I know," Robin replied in a soothing voice. "But I can assure you..."

 

"What?!" she almost yelled in desperation.

 

"From what I've heard, the Mistress of the Forbidden Forest did always keep her promises.” He squeezed her shoulder in a reassuring way. “You have to go home to your mother and Regina."

 

"I can't!" she contradicted. "I have to wait for them! I..."

 

"I will stay here with my men until they return," he assured.

 

For a few moments, Emma just stared at him, then she looked at the spot where the portal had opened and closed again and nodded, like she was in some sort of trance. Her mother and Regina. They would know what to do. She wasn't alone any more, after all, and didn't have to deal with terrible things by herself.

 

Still, when she arrived at the apartment – it was about 4 am by then – she felt numbed with panic and despair. So, although she dreaded what she had to tell her mother, she was relieved to find both Mary Margaret and Regina awake at the kitchen table. For a moment she thought that this could have been funny if the occasion hadn't been that dramatic: the Evil Queen and Snow White having a pajama party. Emma suppressed a hysteric laughter. Her mother jumped up from her chair, while Regina just looked at her curiously.

 

“Emma!” Mary Margaret exclaimed. “What happened?”

 

“She took them,” she replied tonelessly.

 

“What do you mean?” Mary Margaret asked in an alarmed voice.

 

“Hook and David,” Emma said, “she took them with her.”

 

“ _What?!_ ” her mother's voice had a definitely shrill touch now. “Where?”

 

“What happened?” Regina asked in a firm voice while Mary Margaret unconsciously put a hand at her throat and swallowed thickly. 

 

Emma turned to her. “I gave her the staff,” she began mechanically, “she turned human. She told us what happened.” Her voice sounded lifeless; she was still under shock. Although she was facing Regina, her gaze seemed to stare somewhere in the distance.

 

“Miss Swan!” Regina snapped her fingers in front of Emma's face, and her eyes became a little more focused. “And what was that?” she inquired. “What did Maleficent tell you about the unicorn?”

 

Emma slumped down on a chair, and Mary Margaret put wordlessly a steaming cup of tea in front of her. “She's cast a protection spell,” Emma explained and sounded more like herself again. “The spell was to transform the unicorn into a lifeless object once the Dark Curse would hit. She hoped it wouldn't be transported to Storybrooke.”

 

Regina leaned a little forward. “What kind of object?” she asked.

 

“She said she had a vision. A vision that told her to transform it into a small glass figurine of a unicorn...” – she turned to Mary Margaret – “...that looked exactly like the ones you put up over my crib.”

 

“And where are they now?” Regina wanted to know. 

 

“At Gold's shop,” Mary Margaret answered for Emma, “all twelve of them.”

 

Emma shook her head. “Thirteen, mom,” she corrected. “There were thirteen of them.”

 

Mary Margaret frowned. “But...”

 

“I know,” Emma interrupted, “dad told me you put up only twelve. But there were thirteen.” She looked at Regina. “I counted them.” Mary Margaret turned her eyes to Regina, too.

 

“One of them must be Maleficent's unicorn then!” the former Evil Queen stated matter-of-factly.

 

Emma nodded. “That's what I thought. She made me get it.”

 

“Get it? You went to Gold's shop?” Mary Margaret inquired. “But how...”

 

Emma shook her head. “She wouldn't let me.”

 

While Mary Margaret answered only with a clueless frown, Regina's perfect mouth slowly curved into a secret little smile; if Emma hadn't known any better, she'd have said it was at least a little proud. “You used magic,” Regina supposed. “Right?”

 

Emma looked at her like she still couldn't believe it herself. “Yes...”

 

“Did you fetch all of them, or just one?” her former enemy wanted to know.

 

“Just one.” 

 

“How did you know it was the right one?” Mary Margaret asked, but Regina waved her off.

 

“No,” she contradicted, “the question is – how did you _do_ it? How did you make it appear?”

 

“What difference does that make?” Emma's mother snapped.

 

“Answer the question, Miss Swan,” Regina insisted grimly, ignoring Mary Margaret's remark. “We haven't trained things like that yet.”

 

Emma shrugged. “I remembered something Gold once told me: he said that conjuring magic has to do with emotions rather than intellect. That I should concentrate on the goal and feel it.”

 

“You can say about him what you want,” Regina murmured, “but that old reptile indeed knows more about magic than anyone else.” She scrutinized Emma closely. “So what did you concentrate on?”

 

Emma shrugged. “That I wanted to help Maleficent find her unicorn in order to save my family and my home.”

 

A slight smile curled Regina's lips again. “Excellent.”

 

“Wonderful,” Mary Margaret snarled, “and I ask again: what difference does it make?”

 

Regina rolled her eyes. “It means that your daughter here,” – she motioned her hand nonchalantly at Emma – “most likely managed to fetch not just  _any_ of those kitschy things but the  _right_ one.” Mary Margaret's eyes widened, and Regina went on snarkily: “It means that her pirate and your charming husband are probably not in danger.”

 

Emma flinched at the memory of the two men she loved the most being wrapped in chains and thrown into a portal that had transported them into another world. Regina's inquiry had fogged her memory for a moment. “Yeah, well... Maleficent wasn't so sure about that,” she replied despondently. “She didn't trust me. Said she'd have to reverse the spell and that she couldn't do it here but had to go back to the Enchanted Forest.”

 

“Easier said than done without a portal,” Mary Margaret threw in.

 

“We opened one,” Emma told them, and both women stared at her.

 

“You _what?_ ” Regina exclaimed. “How?!”

 

Emma raised her hands and looked at them, still cluelessly about what had happened not even an hour before. “She told me touch my hands to her staff. She held it, too. We did it together.” She shrugged and looked up at her mother, then at Regina who were both staring at her openmouthedly. “A portal opened.” The dreadful memory of the thundering sound of the open portal washed over her, and suddenly the panic and despair came back with all might. She looked at her mother. “She... she jumped into the portal, and I... couldn't, I mean...” she stumbled over her own words and fell silent, pressing a hand over her mouth, the memory of the utter helplessness she'd felt bringing tears to her eyes.

 

Mary Margaret felt cold, steely fingers tug at her heart when she realized that she had just been separated  _again_ from her husband, and that just wasn't fair, but seeing her daughter like that almost broke her heart. She forced herself to stay calm.

 

“Emma, look at me,” she said firmly, “you couldn't do anything. We'll deal with it. Calm down.”

 

Regina threw her a quick sideways glance; not for the first time, she couldn't help but be impressed with the strength of the younger woman. She recalled what Snow White had gone through in her life, how many times she had been confronted with the prospect of losing her home, her family, her True Love for ever – and how she had always managed to face these perils with courage and strength.

 

“Your mother is right,” she told Emma almost curtly, “we'll deal with it. Tell us exactly what happened.”

 

Emma ran her hands through her hair. “She wrapped them in chains and... blocked me somehow. I couldn't get to them.” Her fear mixed with anger. “She wanted to take them as a pawn! She said as soon as she has reversed the spell and sees that I gave her the right unicorn, she'll send them back.”

 

Mary Margaret's jaw dropped, and she shook her head in disbelief. “But how? She can't open a portal just like that, you know what lengths we had to go to get back home!”

 

Emma threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “She didn't tell me! She just said she had her means.”

 

Mary Margaret ruffled her short hair now, mirroring Emma's earlier, almost desperate gesture. “Oh God. But what if...”

 

Regina raised her hands. “Listen to me!” she interjected in her impressive voice, throwing in all her regal authoritativeness. Both other women focused on her face. “Calm down,” she went on firmly, looking first Mary Margaret, then Emma in the eyes. “I know two things about Maleficent: she always has something up her sleeve. So if she says she has her means to send your men back, I trust she has them.” Emma and her mother exchanged a doubtful, worrisome glance. Regina added in an undeterred voice: “And – she never breaks a promise.” She turned to Emma. “I'm fairly certain you gave her the right unicorn. She has no reason to hurt either David or Hook. She will send them back, like she said. And if she doesn't...” Mary Margaret's and Emma's heads both snapped up and turned to fix their eyes on Regina's. The former Evil Queen raised her chin. “We are going to find a way and  _take_ them back,” she promised, her voice dead serious. 

 

For a moment, silence hovered over the table, then Emma rubbed her hands over her face. “I need a moment,” she murmured and rose from her chair, heading for the bathroom.

 

Mary Margaret's eyes followed her, but as soon as she had closed the door behind her, she addressed Regina. “If anything happens to David...”

 

“Nothing will happen to him!” the other woman interrupted her briskly.

 

“Oh, come on!” Mary Margaret blurted out. “Anything can happen. We both know the Enchanted Forest can be a very dangerous place, even without you in it.” Despite herself, Regina couldn't help but smile a little at the sarcasm in her voice. “If David dies...”

 

“Don't even think that!” Regina snapped, her smile gone in the blink of an eye.

 

“If he _dies_ ,” Mary Margaret insisted imperturbably, “you know what's going to happen.” Regina drew a deep breath and looked away, refusing to answer her. “We share a heart. If he dies, I'm going to die as well,” Emma's mother went on matter-of-factly, and Regina turned her eyes to her again, an almost angry expression on her face. Mary Margaret noticed her eyes were glittering suspiciously. 

 

Regina drew a deep breath. “Don't be pathetic, Snow,” she snarled, doing her best Evil-Queen-impression, “you're not going to die.”

 

Mary Margaret felt tears prickle in the corners of her eyes. “You must be there for my children as if they were your own,” she demanded firmly. 

 

“Nonsense,” Regina snapped.

 

“Regina, please,” Mary Margaret urged. “Swear it to me!”

 

The former Evil Queen pressed her lips together and clenched her hands to fists. Then she told her step-daughter through gritted teeth: “You have my word.”

 

***

The hard landing on the rigid stone floor stole all the air from their lungs for a second, and Hook and David actually had to gasp. Maleficent, of course, had landed graciously on her feet. With a snap of her fingers, the iron chains wrought around the men's bodies were gone.

 

A quick look around in the spacious hall where they had landed confirmed David's suspicion. “Your castle,” he stated. The sorceress just tilted her head in response, her blonde curls moving like a waterfall.

 

"It always impresses me how accurately these portals work," Hook commented and was the first one to get to his feet, then he offered David his hand before he turned to Maleficent again. "So, what do we do next?" he asked.

 

" _We_ don't do anything," she replied coolly and, with a quick but gracious move of her hand had a cubic iron cage appear out of nowhere that imprisoned the two men. "I go and try my luck with the spell. You two handsomes pray that your precious sweetheart hasn't led me on." And with that, she snapped her fingers and was gone.

 

"What a capturing nature," Hook remarked dryly, and David rolled his eyes. Grimly, he put his hands at the bars and rattled tentatively and ineffectively.

 

"I hope she can make that spell work," he commented and tilted his head, "and that Emma picked the right unicorn."

 

“I'm sure she did,” Hook replied firmly, and David threw him an appreciative sideways glance, mixed with a little ruefulness. He realized that he couldn't recall one single occasion where he'd heard the pirate utter a shadow of doubt about Emma; he'd seen him always nothing but supportive of her. He could only imagine how important it was for his little lost girl to have someone like that in her life.

 

Hook noticed his stare and raised his eyebrows in question. “What is it, mate?”

 

David shook his head. “Nothing. I was just wondering...” he cleared his throat and quickly thought of something to say. “Ah... do you think there are still people here?” Hook frowned cluelessly, and he added: “I mean – normally, Regina's curse should have affected everybody in this realm."

 

“Oh...” Hook tilted his head in a shrug. "Well, definitely not every inhabitant of this realm is in Storybrooke. So I reckon a few are still here. I suppose you know about the protective sphere Cora had created against the Queen's curse. Those within its boundaries weren't affected by the curse.”

 

“Among them you,” David remarked pointedly.

 

“Aye,” Hook sighed sheepishly and scratched behind his ear, “among them me.” he wasn't so thrilled with the topic of the conversation and licked his lips a little nervously. “But honestly, I don't really care who else is around here.” He threw a worried glance through the bars, but nothing indicated where Maleficent had gone or when she was about to return. “The only thing I care about is that you and me return safely to our fa--” he stopped himself when he realized what he'd been about to say and quickly covered up: “... to Storybrooke." He deliberately avoided David's gaze.

 

Emma's father had of coursed noticed what the other man had almost said.  _Our family_ . Suddenly it dawned on him that the pirate was as much a lost soul as Emma had been; he'd slowly got to understand what twenty-eight years of being alone, lost and unwanted had done to his daughter... he could only try to imagine how much three hundred years of being in the same situation must have done to Hook.

 

“And we will,” David just replied firmly and gave him a determined nod.

 

***

Deep in the dungeon of the castle, Maleficent was working meticulously, thoroughly on her spell; in an antique silver basin, she was mixing ingredients – solid, liquid and powdered – following a mysterious, age-old ritual that included certain waves of her hands. From time to time she murmured words in a language so ancient not even she knew the origins of. In the meanwhile, the filigree glass figurine of a unicorn was placed on a midnight blue velvet cushion on the big wooden table; to the sorceress it seemed like it was watching her attentively.

 

“Almost there,” she murmured after some time, “we're almost there.” Then she drew a deep breath and reached into the fold of her gown. When she pulled her hand out and opened it, two shiny, opaque white objects were resting on her palm; their surface smooth and cool, their size like a finger's phalanx: magic beans. “Let's hope one will be enough,” she sighed and put one of them into a stony mortar; the other one disappeared into the folds of her gown again.

 

Slowly, carefully, she started to pestle the magic bean; a faint green light emanated from the mortar vessel while she crushed the rare and invaluable object. Very few people knew – she wasn't even sure if  _anybody_ beside her knew – that magic beans could not only be used to travel between worlds; they could also be used to travel between conditions: inanimate and breathing; solid and disembodied. Of the three magic beans she had ever possessed in her life, she had used one to perform the first, the protection spell on her unicorn. The second one she was using now. For the sake of the two men caged upstairs in her hall, she hoped that one was enough to make the reverse spell work; otherwise she'd have to use up the last one – the one she'd intended to use to send them back to where they had come from. Maleficent really hoped that wouldn't be necessary – she fully intended to keep her promise, but she also was going to use all her means to bring back into life the thing she loved the most. If that meant the two men would be stuck here in the Enchanted Forest until she'd manage to find another way to send them back, then so be it.

 

When there was nothing left of the magic bean than a little pile of pearly, shimmering powder, she put the pounder aside and carried the mortar vessel over to the silver bowl where the magical substance was waiting for its last ingredient. Maleficent slowly poured the powder into the silver bowl; the faint green light vanished and mingled into something clearer, stronger... she drew another deep breath and took the midnight blue cushion with the glass unicorn, setting it carefully on the floor. Then she took the silver bowl and sat it right beside the cushion. After taking two steps back, she spread her arms like wings and raised them up in the air like when she'd been in her dragon form and about to soar, a long, long time ago, when she'd been free.

 

A thick, purple smoke rose from the silver bowl, crawled over the floor like it had a life of its own and crawled over the blue cushion, covering it up completely. Then, for a few moments, nothing happened, and Maleficent's heart sank. She was sure she'd been thwarted. But suddenly, the purple cloud swelled up higher and higher, and the sorceress clenched her hands to fists and stopped breathing.

 

Abruptly, the cloud evaporated. Maleficent put her hand over her mouth. “My God,” she murmured.

 

***

They didn't know how much time had passed when finally, out of nowhere and surrounded by a cloud of purple dust, Maleficent materialized before their cage. Both men jumped to their feet expectantly. When the purple mist cleared, they saw a gorgeous brown unicorn standing at her side, watching them with a curious, unblinking stare.

 

“You were successful!” Hook commented, not able to keep the relief from his voice.

 

“I was indeed,” the beautiful sorceress replied. 

 

“So you'll let us go now?” David inquired.

 

She inclined her head gracefully. “Of course I will. I told you, the Mistress of the Forbidden Forest always keeps her promises.” She raised her hand and held something up between her thumb and her index finger – small, shiny and well-known to both men.

 

“I'll be damned,” Hook muttered under his breath.

 

“You have a _magic bean_?” David gasped incredulously.

 

She smiled almost triumphantly. “I also said I have my means,” she reminded him.

 

Hook stretched out his hand through the iron bars of the cage. “Well, then, if you'd be so kind as to...”

 

“Ah, not so fast,” Maleficent replied, much to their surprise, and snatched the magic bean away. “Before you go...” She reached with her other hand into the folds of her dress. David and Hook exchanged a frown. Then she reached out again and put something in Hook's still outstretched hand. “Give this to your beloved sheriff.”

 

He took a closer look at the object, and David scrutinized it, too. It was a small silver figurine, beautifully crafted, and it clearly showed a horned dragon. Both men directed their questioning glances toward the sorceress.

 

“It's for her son,” she explained almost curtly, “it will protect him. Tell her I'm indebted to her forever, and I won't forget that.”

 

“Be sure we will,” David promised almost solemnly. Hook nodded in agreement and, after a questioning look at Emma's father who gave him a short nod, tucked the small figure in the deep pocket of his leather coat.

 

Maleficent raised her chin in an almost cheerful way. “Now,” she said, “are you ready to go home?” She presented the magic bean again, and this time she let it fall into Hook's open hand.

 

“I've done this only once, aboard the Jolly Roger,” David murmured, unusually for him, a little nervously. 

 

“Just imagine the place where you want to go,” the sorceress told him lightly, “or, even better, think of the person you love the most and that you want to get back to your loved ones, and you will appear again right where you left.”

 

“I just hope this works,” David grumbled.

 

“It does,” Hook replied. David looked at him, and he tilted his head with a grin. “I've done it before, and it works exactly like the lady said.” Briefly, he thought of his journey to New York; all he'd done was to think of Emma, and he had practically materialized in front of her apartment door. Otherwise it would have been difficult to find her in a monstrous city like that.

 

Maleficent cleared her throat. “I'm sorry for any inconvenience caused,” she commented in a voice that was not really apologetic, “but the last thirty years haven't exactly helped with my trust issues.” A slightly sarcastic smile curved her full lips. “I had to be sure the sheriff wouldn't trick me, you'll understand that.” And with that, she took a step back, the unicorn following closely, never leaving her side. She put a protective hand on its back.

 

Hook noticed the small gesture and the tenderness in the short sideways glance the woman directed at the animal, and suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks.  _There's nothing more important than to save a child's life. It's for her son. It will protect him._ He motioned his head towards the unicorn and said: “It's a child, isn't it?”

 

Maleficent just replied quietly: “Farewell, pirate. Charming.” She tilted her head in a short goodbye and vanished as suddenly as she'd appeared; with her, also the unicorn and the iron cage were gone, and the men were left alone in the vast hall.

 

Hook held up his hand with the magic bean and winked at David. “Shall we, mate?”

 

Emma's father nodded. “Let's go home.”

 

Hook carefully put the bean on the floor, and both men took a step back. Almost immediately, the stone floor disappeared, and a dangerously swooshing vortex opened once again.

 

“I hate this stuff,” David growled.

 

The pirate hooked his metal attachment through David's elbow and replied to his questioning glance: “Just to be sure we end up at the same place, mate.”

 

Then they jumped into the vortex. Just within the blink of an eye later, they landed roughly on the mossy ground of the forest. Their heads spinning for a little moment, both looked a little anxiously around, but then they saw already Robin and his men approach them with loud cheers. They looked at each other and laughed happily, slapping each other's shoulders. 

 

“I'll be damned!” David exclaimed almost triumphantly.

 

“Told you it would work, mate,” Hook commented.

 

***

Henry and Roland were zapping through the various television channels, while the three women were sitting around the kitchen table in front of an untouched breakfast, barely speaking and exchanging wary glances. Suddenly, Mary Margaret's phone beeped. All three women jumped from their seats simultaneously, and Mary Margaret grabbed the phone. She looked at it and then raised her eyes at Emma and Regina in a teary smile.

 

“It's David!” she gasped.

 

“Well, I suggest you answer it!” Regina snarled, and Emma pressed her hand over her mouth in a silent plea and closed her eyes for a moment. _Please, please, let it be him, let them be okay. Let him come back to me._

 

“David?” Mary Margaret almost whispered into the phone; her voice was shaking uncontrollably. Without being aware of it, Regina clenched her hands to fists. She wasn't really worrying about Robin because he hadn't been abducted by Maleficent, but she'd found herself really caring about what happened to David and even the Savior's handless wonder. But her step-daughter's blissful face behind her tears told her all she needed to know. She closed her eyes in relief. “Thank God you're alright,” Mary Margaret almost sobbed, “yes... oh yes, she's here.”

 

She passed the phone to her daughter. “There's someone who wants to talk to you,” she told her with a smile.

 

Emma snatched the phone from her mother's hand and pressed it to her ear. “Killian?”

 

“Swan?” Hook yelled. “Is that you?”

 

She almost jumped and had to hold the phone away from her ear for a moment; Regina rolled her eyes and Mary Margaret grinned when she heard David's muffled voice from the other end of the line: “She can hear you, for heaven's sake. There's no need to yell!”

 

Then Hook's voice again, only randomly toned down. “Swan?”

 

Emma laughed, and she, too, didn't bother to suppress her tears. “Yes, it's me. Are you okay?”

 

“Aye. Didn't I tell you I'd be back?”

 

***

Not even fifteen minutes later, Emma, Mary Margaret and Regina were impatiently waiting in front of the house, down in the street, the children with them – Roland was clinging to Regina's left hand, her right was resting on Henry's shoulder. Emma's hand was at the back of his neck, and Mary Margaret had baby Neal on her arm. Suddenly, Henry jumped forward to the curb, seeing David's jeep approach from far, followed by another car.

 

“There!” he exclaimed. “Grandpa's car! And Robin's!”

 

“Daddy!” Roland chimed in happily, and Regina looked fondly down on the little boy's brunette head. Emma wrapped her arm around her mother's waist and kissed her cheek.

 

Both cars stopped at the curb; David, Hook and Robin got out, obviously unharmed and unhurt. While David and Robin approached the waiting group of women and children right away, both all smiles, Hook stayed a little back and remained standing by David's car. Roland released Regina's hand and ran over to his father who lifted him up in the air; after only a short moment of hesitation, she followed with a completely unusual, beaming smile, and they embraced and kissed. Mary Margaret unceremoniously flew into David's arms, and Henry quickly followed. Emma went over to greet her father, too; but her eyes were fixed on the tall figure in black standing in the background, smiling over to her, patiently waiting – as if he had all the time in the world.

 

Emma saw him, and suddenly her heart felt so light and elated again. When she hugged David, he pressed a kiss to her temple but then released her quickly and motioned with his head to the pirate, fondly smiling at her. “Your man's over there,” he told her quietly, “what are you waiting for?”

 

She gave her father a sheepish smile and stepped away from her parents and Henry who gave her a smile and an urging nod, too. Then she drew a deep breath and slowly started to walk over to David's car where Hook was still waiting, showing off his pirate pose from head to toe. He was leaning nonchalantly against the passenger's door, his long legs crossed, the hooked arm slightly bent at the elbow, and his ringed thumb hooked into his silver belt buckle. For once, Emma wasn't annoyed at the flutter of her stomach and the way her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't take her eyes off his face; his smile was light but still dazzling, and the fine lines around his amazing ocean blue eyes crinkled.

 

She tried deliberately not to run, because she simply wasn't the type for that; or, at least, that was what she'd thought, but automatically her steps became faster the more closely she approached him. When she had reached him, she stopped dead in her tracks for a moment, right in front of him, her hands dangling uselessly at her sides. He hadn't changed his position and didn't move now either, and their stares locked. Emma's heart was beating deafeningly loudly in her ears now when she suddenly realized what she'd feared all the time since she'd seen him vanish in that portal in the forest: that she might never see him again. And she knew with utter clarity, that would just have broken her for good this time, crushed her heart more cruelly and irrevocably than Regina could ever have.

 

Hook read all that on her face, and it made him happy to see all those strong emotions mirrored so clearly there. He'd also heard the tears of relief and happiness in her voice when they'd spoken on the telephone earlier. And what was the best of all this: obviously, her feelings, strong as they were, didn't seem to frighten her anymore. When she was making her way over to him, her pace becoming quicker, even hastier with every step, her beautiful green eyes were truly the mirrors of her soul. He remembered the day before, not even twenty-four hours ago, almost on the same spot, she had told him, finally said it out loud that she loved him, and he saw also that on her face. His relief to be back with her was overwhelming, and he had to suppress the urge to lunge forward to meet her and pull her in his arms; but he knew, Emma Swan wasn't the one for the grand gestures, especially not in front of all those other people, and so he didn't want to overdo it – there would be enough time for that later, in private. For him, it was enough to know what she felt; he didn't need a public display of it to be sure. So, he forced himself to stay exactly where he was and just winked at her.

 

“Hello, Swan.” His smile was heart-stopping, and he tilted his head; his eyebrows twitched, and suddenly Emma just _knew_ what he was going to say. “Did you miss me?”

 

And right there and then, in that moment, she didn't give a bilge rat's ass about who was looking on and if her tough facade crumbled to pieces right there at his feet. She threw her arms around his neck, and he'd have stumbled if there hadn't been the car in his back supporting him. Hook caught her in his arms with a surprised gasp; immediately, both her hands were entangled in his hair, and she pulled his face down to hers, pressing her forehead against his, her eyes wide open and boring into his. Her lips were slightly parted, but still unable to speak, while her eyes were telling everything, and more. Overwhelmed with the tenderness he felt for this woman and touched beyond anything by the fierceness of her emotions, he brought his hand to her head and combed gently through her hair, finally letting it rest on her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. She leaned her face lightly into his palm, and finally he saw the tension fall from her eyes, be washed away by the tears that were welling up; and even if her lips weren't smiling yet, her eyes were.

 

He swallowed thickly and murmured softly: “I take it this is a yes...”

 

Emma finally smiled with her teary eyes, all the gripping tension suddenly fallen from her heart, and because she didn't really have to say anything, instead of an answer she just stood on the balls of her feet and kissed him slowly, lightly on the lips. Maybe to answer his stupid, rhetorical question this time, maybe to prove to herself that he was real, that he had indeed come back to her. Hook was thrilled with her open display of affection in front of her family and friends; she didn't care at all who was looking on – she obviously just felt comfortable. When their lips parted, she brought both her hands to his waist and slipped them under his coat, wrapping her arms around him, snuggling closely into his chest and resting her head for a moment against his shoulder. She closed her eyes and finally relaxed into him, deeply breathing in his now so familiar scent; and she was amazed at how much that felt like _coming_ _home_. He smiled into her hair and held her with his hooked arm, his hand still in her hair, cradling her head. Above the top of her head, for a moment he caught David's gaze who was enveloped in a very similar embrace with his wife. Emma's father gave his mate a barely perceptible nod. _They approve._

 

Only audible for him, Emma murmured against the side of his throat: "Missed you."

 

Only audible for her, he replied quietly: “Told you I wasn't going anywhere.”

 

Meanwhile, Mary Margaret slipped out of her husband's embrace and exclaimed excitedly, without addressing anyone in particular: "Let's celebrate this with a family dinner! Tonight at seven, I'm cooking!"

 

"That's a great idea!" Henry agreed and turned to Regina. "Isn't it?"

 

She bent a little forward to him. "Yes, Henry. I'll see you tomorrow then."

 

"But, mom?!” he protested. "You're coming too, aren't you?"

 

"You heard your... grandmother," she replied a little uneasily. "It's a family dinner. I..."

 

"You _what_ , Regina?" Mary Margaret interjected, benevolent irony in her voice. "You don't do family?"

 

"Yes, why don't you go?" Robin suggested. "I owe my men a celebration anyway. We'll have a few pints, and later I'll meet you at your house, if you like."

 

Regina frowned. "But Roland..."

 

"Is welcome, too, of course," Mary Margaret said quickly and smiled at the little boy who was clutching his father's and the former Evil Queen's hand.

 

Regina looked at her almost grumpily. “At seven, you said?”

 

Mary Margaret nodded. “I'm making lasagna. It's my specialty.”

 

Regina raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Well, that's going to be interesting,” she commented dryly, “as lasagna happens to be _my_ specialty.”

 

Mary Margaret shrugged with a carefree smile. “Fine, then next time you make it, and we can have a friendly competition.”

 

“We'll see,” Regina replied almost curtly, definitely determined not to show how much the invitation and the underlying message actually pleased her. “I'll bring dessert.” And with that, she turned around, and she, Robin and the little boy walked away. Mary Margaret shook her head and smiled to herself. They had all come very far, without a doubt.

 

Nearby, after reveling for a few precious moments in their nearness, Hook remembered something and loosened his embrace a little. "Oh, before I forget..."

 

Emma stepped back from him reluctantly and looked at him with a question in her eyes while he reached into the pocket of his coat. "Maleficent sends you this." He held his hand out to her, a small silver figurine resting in his open palm. It looked very much like a little horned dragon. "She wants you to know that she won't forget she's indebted to you," he explained.

 

"Okay..." She took the small figurine from Hook's hand and looked at it closely. A token of thankfulness wasn't what she'd expected to receive. "It's...” – she shrugged a little cluelessly – “...pretty."

 

"It's for the lad," Hook went on, nodding his head towards Henry who was standing beside his grandparents, and when she frowned at him in question, he added: "She said it will protect him."

 

"Really?" Emma's voice sounded incredulous. "But... why would she be interested in Henry? Or want to protect him?"

 

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Perhaps she felt the need to reciprocate the favor."

 

"Reciprocate?" Emma echoed. "What do you mean?"

 

Hook swayed his head thoughtfully. "I'm fairly certain her unicorn is a child," he told her.

 

Her jaw almost dropped. "You think so? Why?"

 

He pursed his lips and cocked his head in that typical shrug of his. "Just a feeling. What she said to you about saving a child's life. The way she was looking at the unicorn."

 

Emma slowly nodded and scrutinized her lover closely. "You're quite perceptive, right?” she stated and looked at him in disbelief. “Is there anyone who's _not_ an open book to you?" If one thing was for sure, then that Killian Jones would probably never cease to amaze her.

 

He grinned and smoothed her hair out with his hook. "You're the only open book I intend to read, Swan,” he assured her and winked at her with that devilish, teasing twinkle in his eyes. “But you should know that I'm not only a naughty pirate, I'm also sensitive."

 

She smiled fondly and openly. "And don't I know that." Her tone was teasing, but he saw that she meant it, that she had recognized and acknowledged also that facet of him.

 

Hook scratched behind his ear and then motioned vaguely to the common departure mood; Regina and Robin were driving away in Robin's car, and Henry had already entered the house again. “Time for me to go back to my quarters,” he said reluctantly, not really keen on leaving his Swan. “I need a bath, and also some rest, I admit.”

 

Emma smiled eagerly and motioned to her yellow bug. “Want a lift?”

 

He smirked. “As much as I appreciate the offer...” – he hesitated for a moment and slowly ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, but then he pulled himself together and went on: “I'd better walk, love.” he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “We both know what will happen if you accompany me.” Emma averted her eyes and blushed slightly when she thought of the last time she'd given him a lift to Granny's. “Today you should be with your family,” he added softly;  _thoughtful and sensitive, as always,_ she thought. _Some pirate._ “Tomorrow we can...”

 

She hiked her eyes up to his again. “Tomorrow?” she echoed and pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “Didn't you hear my mother? She said dinner at seven!”

 

Secretly, Hook was pleased at the upset tone of her voice, her reluctance to let him go. “Aye, a  _family_ dinner,” he specified and motioned his hand vaguely between himself and the Charmings. “I can't seem to recall that I was invited.”

 

“You gotta be kidding me!” Emma huffed. “She invited _Regina_!”

 

He cocked his head in a shrug. “Well, Regina is...”

 

Suddenly, Mary Margaret addressed him directly from behind Emma: “Hook?” 

 

Emma whirled around, and Hook's eyes flew to the princess; neither of them knew if she had overheard anything of their conversation. He raised his eyebrows in question. “Dinner at seven,” Emma's mother informed him matter-of-factly, like it wasn't an invitation, but an order. Or, simply the statement of an obviousness: that he  _belonged_ at the family table. Emma didn't even try to hide the smile at her mother's words, and the barely perceptible crinkle around his stormy blue eyes warmed her heart. Mary Margaret added almost severely: “And be on time. I hate to keep the food warm.” She threw him a sarcastic glance. “In other words – tick-tock.”

 

He tilted his head slightly more than usual and swayed his right arm before him in that mocking imitation of a bow, smirking instead of a reply. Mary Margaret just shot him a glare and turned around, walking towards the house. Once more, Emma didn't really understand what was going on between her mother and her lover, but she saw that they both seemed to be okay with the bickering and sensed that it was backed by some sort of mutual understanding, so she was fine with it, too. 

 

She smiled at Hook. “She likes you,” she told him.

 

He just grinned, turned around and strutted away. After admiring his pirate swagger for a few moments, Emma smiled to herself and murmured: “Like mother, like daughter.” 

 


	11. Something Called Baloney

 

Although they all were tired after an eventful night with very little sleep, nobody really got to rest very much. Everybody had still way too much adrenaline running through their veins and had to exchange what they'd lived through. Both Mary Margaret and David had Emma tell them again and again how she'd managed to make the prophecy on Maleficen't staff visible where not even Regina's magic had been able to; both Mary Margaret and Emma poked David about his short trip to the Enchanted Forest with Hook, even if that hadn't really been that eventful. 

 

At some point though, tiredness got the better of them, and Mary Margaret declared she needed a little rest before the big dinner event. Emma lied down for a bit, too, but she wasn't really used to sleeping during the day; besides, these days she found it hard to fall asleep without two certain strong arms wrapped safely around her. “ _ Lass _ , you have it bad,” she grumbled, mocking herself about the obvious, and put a pillow over her head.

 

In the master bedroom, Mary Margaret was trying to soothe the baby into sleeping after feeding him, so that she could go downstairs and start with the preparations for the meal. Luckily, Neal was always the most peaceful right after being fed; if he should make trouble later, his father would have to deal with it.

 

"So," David asked almost casually while watching her, "Hook's coming over too, right?" 

 

"Yes." She shrugged. "I suppose from now on there's no family dinner without him, right?" She spoke in a singsonging voice, as she was looking at Neal while talking to her husband.

 

Instead of an answer, David scrutinized his wife closely. "Does that bother you?" he wanted to know. 

 

"Would it make a difference?" she asked back over her shoulder and shrugged again with an ironic grin. "I guess he's maybe not so bad after all." 

 

David was a little relieved about her attitude; they'd barely had time during those last few days to touch the subject of their grown-up daughter being romantically involved with the pirate, and even if  _ he _ had made his peace with the possibility of that happening already quite a long time ago, he wasn't so sure yet what Mary Margaret really felt about it. For him, on the other hand, it couldn't be any clearer that the handsome former rogue was exactly the man he wanted to see his daughter with; as weird at is may seem, given how they'd started out, David Nolan had come to the point that he would blindly trust the pirate Captain Killian “Hook” Jones with his own life any time – and, more so, even with his family's. Besides, he knew by now that Hook really loved Emma – and she obviously felt the same for him. And seeing his daughter finally happy was everything he'd ever wished for her. 

 

But David also knew that it was never wise to try and push Mary Margaret to see something his way if she wasn't convinced of it herself, so it was probably better not to show too much enthusiasm, in case she still needed more time to warm up to their daughter's pirate boyfriend.

 

"Yeah, I guess he has his good sides," he therefore replied carefully and cleared his throat. "It looks like they, sort of..." – he shrugged – "...care for each other."

 

"They  _ sort of care _ for each other?" Mary Margaret echoed incredulously and turned around to face him with an amused twinkle in her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, David. They are madly and irretrievably in love," she remarked almost solemnly, not sounding one bit annoyed about that fact.

 

David thought he had heard wrong and leaned a little forward, his mouth gaping open. "Ah... what?"

 

"Come on," she chuckled and turned to the crib again, carefully pulling a blanket over Neal who had finally fallen asleep, " _ we _ of all people should know. They keep finding and saving each other, they seem to be inseparable, they argue and bicker, she knocked him out, gave him a hard time and kept running away from him, on the other hand constantly seeks his advice... sounds familiar?" She raised her eyebrows ironically to underline the rhetoric of her question. “I might be  _ stubborn _ at times, as you so charmingly put it the other day, but I recognize True Love when I see it.”

 

David didn't bother to hide his pleased grin and nodded. "And last but not least, he traded his ship for her," he added matter-of-factly.

 

Mary Margaret whirled around on her heel. "He did  _ what?! _ " she gasped.

 

He shrugged. "Yeah, he sold it for a magic bean,” he explained. “That's how he got to New York." Absurdly, David felt even a little proud of his mate.

 

Mary Margaret folded her arms and shook her head slowly with a little smirk. "That sneaky bastard," she murmured thoughtfully, although there wasn't much surprise in her voice. Then she threw her husband a questioning glance. "Did you already give him the speech?"

 

David didn't have to ask what she was talking about and nodded. "I threatened him with bodily harm if he hurts Emma."

 

Mary Margaret raised her hand. "Same here. I think we're good then." She shrugged again. “Not that I'd think it's necessary.”

 

He laughed and pulled her in his arms. "Have I told you today that I love you?"

 

***

It was ten minutes to seven, and the whole kitchen area was smelling deliciously of Mary Margaret's sauce bologna. The lasagna was in the oven, the cheese on top melting and forming a crackly crust, and Emma left the bathroom after putting on a light touch of make-up. Her mother slipped into the bathroom right after she'd left and murmured something about quickly throwing some laundry into the washing machine before the dinner guests would arrive.

 

Emma had her hand on the doorknob of her room and – unusually for her – a little soft tune on her lips, when Mary Margaret called after her. She turned around and saw her mother standing in the bathroom doorway, holding up a crumpled garment with one hand, the other hand at her hip in a somehow standoffish manner. "Emma, we have a little problem here," she told her with a no-nonsense tone to her voice that matched her pose.

 

Emma frowned. Since they'd been living together, they'd always more or less shared the household chores, so she wasn't really sure about what her mother was referring to.

 

"Uh... next time I'll do the laundry?" she offered.

 

Mary Margaret shook her head. "It's not that." She waved the garment like a flag, and Emma saw that it was one of her blouses. "I'm not going to fix this," she declared firmly. "Even if I had the time to do so, I'd need like..." – surprisingly, the corners of her mouth twitched, and Emma had no idea why – "...eight identical buttons."

 

Emma frowned cluelessly, then looked at the blouse again and blushed crimson red when she realized it was the blouse she'd worn on her second evening with Hook. Her eyes widened, her blush deepened, and she felt like bathed in hot lava when she remembered how it had come off; he had ripped it off with his hook, after she'd urged him to. Or  _ begged? _ She didn't even remember. The fabric had remained intact, but the buttons had all sprung to the floor of his bedroom where they were probably still scattered.

 

She had completely forgotten about that when she'd come here the morning after to change before work and thoughtlessly stuffed the garment in the laundry basket.  _ Really?! _ God, how  _ stupid _ had she been? What had she been thinking? Damn, of course she knew what she'd been thinking; she'd been rewinding the steamy scenes of the previous night in her mind over and over again.

 

"I... uh..." she stuttered and quickly blurted out the first lie that came to her mind: "Whoa, where did that come from?” She waved her hand vaguely. “I haven't seen this thing in ages!" 

 

Mary Margaret had her features very much under control in the light of her daughter's blatant, not even very creative lie. She smiled sweetly and added a little, well-dosed confusion to her facial expression. “Well, that's odd,” she commented and blinked innocently. “The last time I did the laundry, like two days ago, I left the basket empty.” Emma chewed nervously on her lips and had to avert her eyes; what wouldn't she have given for a portal opening up in the floor at her feet, swallowing her right here and now. “Oh, never mind, honey,” her mother said brightly, “you know what? I'll try and fix it when I get the time.” 

 

Emma nodded in relief that the inquisition was over and murmured a barely audible “ _ I'm sorry” _ , looking up again and smiling feebly and oh-so-guiltily. 

 

“Oh, don't be,” Mary Margaret waved her off and smirked mischievously. “You probably just got...” she paused for effect before she added: “... _hooked_ somewhere.” Emma's jaw dropped, and she stared incredulously at her mother. Except that, in that moment, she wasn't her mother, a royal princess or even Mary Margaret Blanchard, her friend; she was every inch Snow White, the bandit, and there was a devilish twinkle in her eyes that reminded Emma so vividly of Hook that she rolled her eyes.

 

“Thanks, mother,” she growled, barely able to cover up the annoyance in her voice. Really, she'd missed the teenage years with her parents, only to get back all the embarrassment that came normally with it tenfold now? 

 

As if on cue, a determined knock at the door was heard; it definitely sounded like solid metal on wood. Mary Margaret wiggled her eyebrows and commented: “Speaking of the devil...” She looked at her watch and smirked. “More than in time.” She nodded appreciatively. “I must say, I like that  _ good form _ thing of his. Even if he interprets it a little unconventionally sometimes.” Emma rolled her eyes again and disappeared into her room without a reply to get dressed; despite all her annoyance and embarrassment, her stomach fluttered at the mere thought that in a few minutes she would be able to sit close to  _ him _ again.

 

Mary Margaret laughed at the slamming door, threw the damaged blouse back in the laundry basket and hurried downstairs to let the visitor in. Although she'd made him wait, Hook hadn't repeated his knock but was patiently waiting outside, looking maybe a tiny bit nervous. “Well, if that isn't the other half of the dynamic duo,” she greeted him.

 

Hook raised a clueless eyebrow. “Pardon me?”

 

She laughed and waved him off. “Never mind. Come in.” She stepped aside and let him pass.

 

He strutted into the apartment in his typical way now, steering right to the kitchen isle. "This smells intriguing, love,” he commented. “What's it called?"

 

"Lasagna bolognese," Mary Margaret replied with only a little self-satisfaction in her voice.

 

His blue eyes widened with an expression that came surprisingly close to utter horror. "You were saying...?"

 

Of course he wasn't so familiar with modern days' food yet. "Lasagna bolognese,” she repeated and started to explain: “It's..."

 

" _Ba-lo-ney?_ ” he gasped incredulously, gesticulating almost hectically with his hook. “I've had that in New York when your daughter had me thrown in the brig, and it almost killed me!” He pointed his ringed index finger vaguely in the direction of the stove, obviously upset, and went on: “ _That_ is devil's work. Indigestible."

 

Mary Margaret frowned. "Well, I made it, Hook, and it won't kill you," she told him a little sternly.

 

"Bloody sure it won't,” he growled and waved his hook in a standoffish gesture, “because I'm not partaking of any of it."

 

Mary Margaret had had enough of that nonsense, Emma's True Love or not. She took a step nearer and narrowed her eyes; even though she was much shorter than him, her expression was surprisingly intimidating. And for a moment, Hook was intensely reminded of Snow White, the bandit, wanted for murder, treason and treachery – her fierceness and fearlessness had always shone through and had always impressed him, even before he'd actually seen her in action as her past self. "Listen, pirate,” she told him now through gritted teeth, “this is _not_ New York. Let me tell you how it works in my kitchen.” The glares she shot his way would surely have intimidated a lesser man. She raised her chin. “ _I'm_ the captain here – _I_ make the food, _you'll_ eat it. Are we clear?"

 

He drew a deep breath and growled hesitantly, through a tightened jaw: “If the lady insists...”

 

“She does,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then she raised a hand and tugged roughly at the lapels of his leather coat. “And take this coat off.” Another glare, less threatening this time, more gruff. “Make yourself at home.”

 

He couldn't help but grin at her words and bowed ironically, swaying out his good arm before him. “At your behest.”

 

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and shook her head, and Hook turned around to take off the coat and hang it up; it felt a little unusual to get rid of that garment that had almost become a second skin to him, but definitely not unpleasant. When he turned around again, he found that Emma's mother was still standing in front of him, arms folded, head slightly tilted, and scrutinizing him closely.

 

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Anything else I can be of service to you with, Milady?” he asked a little cluelessly.

 

Mary Margaret nodded slowly. “Sure. You can tell me about your adventure with my husband.” He frowned in question, and she went on: “He tends to hide things from me that might make me worry.” She raised her chin. “So, tell me – do I have to worry? Is this episode over?”

 

He tilted his head in a nod, a little flattered that she sought his advice, like she'd already done before. “I think we're good for now,” he told her.

 

“And did she really use a magic bean to send you back?” she inquired almost casually.

 

Hook scratched behind his ear a little uneasily. “Aye...”

 

Mary Margaret slowly shook her head, as to express her utter disbelief. “Who knew there were still some of them around?” she commented, and he grinned a little sheepishly, not really feeling comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. “Precious little things, aren't they?” Emma's mother went on pointedly, and it dawned on him where she was aiming at. “Almost unaffordable.” For a moment, her probing gaze lingered on his face before she shrugged. “Well, I guess everything has its price...” She raised her chin again. “As long as there's someone willing to pay it.”

 

For a moment, he averted his eyes. “Well...” he murmured. “True, that goes for most things.” He tilted his head and rolled his tongue through his mouth; but more in a thoughtful, not in a lewd way. “But some things are...” He looked at her again firmly, “...priceless.”

 

Mary Margaret scrutinized him closely. “Worth every sacrifice, you mean?”

 

Damn the bandit, she _knew_. Of course, the prince hadn't kept it to himself. Oh well, let her know then. He blinked slowly, his blue eyes withstanding her gaze, then inclined his head in a nod. “Something like that, aye.” He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Although... it's not really a sacrifice if you do it light-heartedly.”

 

The silence stretched out and seemed to linger in the air between them, but it wasn't really uncomfortable; Mary Margaret's eyes bore into his for endless seconds, until she finally nodded briefly and the ghost of a smile flew over her face. “Make yourself at home,” she told him again, this time with a touch of softness to her voice, and motioned her head invitingly to the living-room area. He watched her walk over to the kitchen isle, and a small, admiring, and a little unbelieving smile curved his lips. He then let his gaze sweep over the vast room and saw the boy sitting on the little couch at its other end. Henry had spotted him and waved briefly in his direction; Hook returned the gesture.

 

“There you are!” David had descended the stairs and greeted him with a nod and a slap on his shoulder. “Care to join me for a beer? God knows I need one.” Without waiting for an answer, he fetched two bottles from the fridge, opened them and offered Hook one; he eyed it a bit suspiciously, not being used to drink anything else than strong liquor – rum – directly from the bottle. Beer normally came from barrels. But, modern times.

 

He tilted his head. “I never decline a decent ale,” he then replied and took the bottle. “What's the distress, mate?”

 

David sighed and motioned with his head to the kitchen isle. “As Mary Margaret is cooking, I was on baby duty. Neal's a bad sleeper, obviously.”

 

“More joys of parenthood?” Hook chuckled and raised his bottle to his lips to take a sip.

 

“Yeah...” David threw him a sarcastic glance. “Go ahead and laugh, Hook,” he challenged. “Some day soon I'll be laughing at _you_.” He merrily watched the pirate choke on his beer and then took a sip himself.

 

Hook swayed back and forth the balls and heels of his feet, still not sure he'd heard right. Had the prince just made an allusion at him and Emma having a _child_? A _family_? Until that moment, he had never really thought that far, but... his eyes darted quickly to David's, and he saw the teasing glint. Not really sure about what to say, he licked his lips nervously, but was saved from the situation when said Swan came down from upstairs. Both men turned to her.

 

“Hey, guys,” she greeted nonchalantly.

 

Immediately, he found his inner dashing rapscallion again. “Hello, beautiful.” Hook tilted his head and raised his bottle to her with a grin.

 

Emma felt that damn, unusual blush creep over her face again, when she saw him standing there in his usual pose – legs slightly spread, left arm a little crooked at the elbow, hook resting against his belt – and heard his husky voice and the teasing tone. And her father standing right beside him. She flashed Hook a glare, but couldn't even come near to hide her happiness to see him there; deliberately nonchalantly, she sauntered over to her father and her pirate boyfriend, a little clueless about how to behave, her hands shoved in the back pockets of her jeans. Quickly, her eyes darted to David who rolled his eyes.

 

“Emma, really,” he huffed. “Just stop that. You two are...” – he frowned, looking for a word that wouldn't be too weak and not too strong, and waved his hand between his daughter and the pirate in a very Hook-ish way – “... _together_. We all know that.” From the kitchen isle, a loud clatter could be heard. David grinned to himself and went on: “Just behave normally.”

 

Hook couldn't scratch behind his ear as he had the bottle in his hand, so he looked down at his feet for a moment and shuffled them. Emma cleared her throat. _Behave normally?_ She didn't even know how to do that, never having been in such a situation. _Well, about time to find out then_ , she thought and took a step nearer, standing so close to him now that their sleeves touched. She noticed that he had taken off the coat; somehow, she liked it. As if he was trying his best to blend in. He turned his eyes to her, looking at her from under his eyebrows, the same slight uneasiness on his face, although she was oblivious to the real reason of his current embarrassment. She took a deep breath and tentatively slipped her right arm underneath his left, wrapping it around his trim waist, leaning slightly into him. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

 

Unexpectedly, David gave them a barely perceptible nod. “Care for a beer?” he asked casually, and Emma nodded quickly. Her father turned away from them and went over to the fridge again.

 

She smiled up at her pirate boyfriend, and he threw her a wink, cocking his head. “Your Highness,” he mockingly greeted.

 

“You heard David,” she teased back, “there's no need to be formal.”

 

“Don't worry, I'm not the one to stand on ceremony,” Hook replied and bent his head slightly down to murmur into her ear, his hot breath licking like flames over the side of her throat: “You might be my princess by day, but once I'll... _have_ you in my bed again, you can be certain I shall make you _beg_ for more, just like the next wanton wench.” His wicked tongue flicked along his lower lip. “ _Repeatedly_.”

 

She gasped and elbowed him roughly, stepping away from him. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!” she hissed, although his words had hit her right into the stomach – and _deeper_ – with a burning sensation, like one of Regina's infamous fireballs.

 

He raised his eyebrows and fluttered his illegally spectacular eyelashes innocently. “What? Your father said, behave normally.”

 

“Sometimes I really can't...” she growled, but he interrupted her with a chuckle.

 

“You're _blushing_!” he stated.

 

“I'm not...”

 

At that moment, David patted her gently on the shoulder and, when she whirled around, handed her a bottle of beer. He frowned when he saw her face. “What's wrong, Emma?” he asked. “You look... feverish.”

 

Hook could barely hold back his laughter; his sparkling eyes betrayed the enormous amount of his amusement which fueled her annoyance. “Your father is right, love,” he replied, “you've gone red!”

 

Emma drew a deep breath, but before she could think of an adequate reply, a knock at the door saved her from the situation. "Never mind!" she snapped and shoved the bottle back into David's hand. "Just enjoy your beer, _mates_!" And with that, she whirled around on her heels. "I'll get the door, mom!" she called out to Mary Margaret a little harshly.

 

David turned to Hook and threw him a clueless glance. "Maybe she'd adapt better if I punched you in the face from time to time?" he suggested with barely coated irony in his voice. Even David Charming Nolan could take only so much obnoxiousness from his children, and dealing with cranky baby Neal the better part of the afternoon had worn his patience thin. Sometimes he really didn't understand his daughter, and he didn't even _want_ to know in what hormonal uproar she was right now. Really, he'd missed her teenage years and was still getting the bad sides of them now?

 

“Perhaps.” Hook tilted his head in a shrug and grinned. "If all else fails, we can always give it a shot," he replied dryly, and David rolled his eyes and chuckled.

 

Emma crossed the room with angry steps, hands clenched to fists at her sides. Really, Hook was too much sometimes. She did her best to adapt to a for her completely new situation – _how do I handle my slightly unorthodox boyfriend in front of my slightly unorthodox family?_ – and, slowly, she was getting there. And then the damn pirate went and whispered dirty things like _that_ in her ear in her father's presence, as if he enjoyed embarrassing her. Maybe, one day, she would be able to laugh off a remark like that, but right now, she was much too... _God,_ just thinking about what he had said made that damn blush well up again, she could feel the heat in her cheeks. And the worst thing was that she could feel it _not only_ in her cheeks; no, the heat and electricity were flowing through her whole body and seemed to pool heavily in the center of her being.

 

Damn, they hadn't been a couple for long and just started to... _enjoy_ each other, and she was already addicted to that man and his touch... the way his lips felt on hers; the way his body hair tickled the skin of her palms when she ran her hands all over him; the way his intoxicating scent filled her nostrils when she kissed her way down his body; the way her skin burned and broke into goosebumps at the same time when he branded her with his fingertips, his hook, his tongue; the way his hard body molded into her soft one and pressed her down on the mattress, anchoring her so safely, when he took possession of her... and they hadn't made love in two damn days now, _two endless days_ , and she already missed so embarrassingly desperately to _feel it_ and in fact couldn't wait to get her hands on him again and to have him do things to her that would make her... _no_. She stopped herself and closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head to cast off those impure thoughts. Oh, and that damn bastard _knew_ , he knew _exactly_. She was sure his feelings of withdrawal were as urgent as hers, but unfortunately he just could handle them way better than she could. She would make him pay later. _Oh great, Emma. Not helping._

 

Still upset about Hook and herself, Emma almost yanked the door open. Regina had arrived, and with her Robin's adorable little boy. He was carrying a pie form and smiled from ear to ear, showing off his dimples. She couldn't help but smile. "Hey. Come in." She stepped aside invitingly, and after a short _hello_ nod, Regina entered the apartment, softly ushering Roland forward.

 

Mary Margaret came over to greet the visitors; she smiled at Regina and then hunkered down to be on the boy's eye level. "And what have you brought us, sweetie?" she asked.

 

The little boy beamed. "Apple pie!" he announced proudly and handed the pie form over to Mary Margaret who took it with a barely suppressed grin.

 

Emma raised her eyebrows at Regina. "Really?"

 

The former Evil Queen shrugged graciously. "It's my other specialty."

 

Mary Margaret nudged Emma's arm. "If your boyfriend can eat my baloney, you can eat her apple pie," she told her dryly.

 

For a few seconds, the three women exchanged glances – grumpy, ironic, embarrassed... and finally, amused. Then Mary Margaret chuckled, Emma grinned reluctantly, and even the corners of Regina's mouth twitched. She shrugged off her coat and hung it next to Hook's enormous leather coat, then helped the little boy get off his jacket. Mary Margaret carried the pie form over to the kitchen isle and peeked over at said boyfriend who was just about to sit down on the couch beside Henry, ushered by David.

 

Mary Margaret smiled to herself and called over to them: "David! Could you help me out here for a minute?"

 

Emma threw her a questioning glace, but she just ignored her daughter and nodded when she saw her husband trot over to her, leaving Hook and Henry alone.

 

"Not one minute of peace," David grumbled as he got up from the couch again and shrugged apologetically in Hook's direction. "Sorry."

 

Hook tilted his head. "Never make a lady wait," he replied in an amused tone.

 

Henry, who was keeping himself occupied with the telephone in his hand grinned to himself without looking up. "Especially not grandma," he commented. "Not if you want to be on her good side." He raised his head and threw Hook a conspiratorial glance, and the pirate nodded.

 

"I'll bear that in mind." He motioned to the flat, rectangular device in the boy's hand. "What are you doing with that telephone?" he then asked with genuine interest. _He_ was trying his best to adapt to a new situation as well, even if on a completely different level than Emma. "I thought it's used to talk to others who are not in the same room?"

 

"Oh yeah, that too," the lad replied. "But you can do a lot of other stuff with it, too. I'm texting."

 

Hook raised his eyebrows in a frown. "Texting?" he echoed cluelessly.

 

Henry nodded. "Yeah, that's like..." he contemplated for a moment how to explain the wonders of a modern smartphone to a three hundred years old pirate. "It's like writing a message, and if the other person has a phone too, they can directly read it."

 

"Seems more reliable than a pigeon," Hook mused.

 

"And it's fun!" Henry grinned and nudged his arm. "One day we must get you one. You could text mom."

 

"Ah..." Hook shifted a little uneasily on his seat. "We'll see..."

 

Henry put the phone away and turned his full attention to the man in black. "Speaking of which... so, you're my mom's boyfriend now?"

 

That was it. Hook couldn't stand it anymore. He put the beer bottle on the coffee table and was finally able to scratch behind his ear. "It would appear so," he then replied slowly and scrutinized the lad closely, trying to detect the faintest hint of what was his attitude about that development. Granted, he had already made them understand that he was fine with his mother "dating" him, but seeing him here, in the family surroundings... Hook just hoped that Emma's son didn't see him as an intruder. After all, the lad had was just twelve years old, and he'd gone through a lot of terrible, confusing things lately.

 

But the boy just nodded in obvious approval. "Cool."

 

Hook frowned, and Henry grinned at his clueless expression. "It means it's okay," he explained. "I like it."

 

"Oh." Hook relaxed visibly and moistened his lips. "Good to hear that."

 

"You're good for her," the boy commented, and when he saw the cutthroat pirate's embarrassed little smile, he motioned his head to his mother and elbowed Hook slightly, adding: "I mean, just _look_ at her."

 

Hook of course never missed out on an opportunity to look at his Swan, especially when she wasn't noticing it, and let his gaze follow the lad's.

 

She was standing beside her mother at the kitchen isle and sticking her finger in the sauce pot. The princess bandit, all captain of her kitchen, scolded her and slapped her wrist, and Emma actually sort of  _ giggled _ and licked the sauce off of her finger. As if she felt her boys' gaze rest on her, she raised her eyes and looked at them over the depth of the room. She caught Hook's gaze and smiled: quietly, radiantly almost; it was like there was no one else in the room. She looked completely at ease with herself, carefree – simply  _ happy _ .  _ Never thought I'd see one of those... _

 

"Besides," Henry's voice woke him from his warm and fuzzy thoughts, "you're the only one she listens to, except for me."

 

Hook tilted his head and scratched behind his ear. "I'm not so sure about that..."

 

The boy rolled his eyes. “ _Really?!_ ” Hook was taken aback at how much Henry looked and sounded like Emma in that moment. “You know that without you, she would be in New York now, or in the Enchanted Forest.” He shook his head. “You two are _so_ alike, do you know that?”

 

Hook raised his eyebrows in question. “Come again?”

 

“It took my mom almost a year to accept that she's the Savior,” Henry explained, “and then another year to accept that Storybrooke is her home and that she belongs here. And both was only possible because you and me, _we_ believed in her.” Not for the first time, Hook was astounded by the boy's clear-sightedness; and he realized that they had much more in common than one would think – the truest believer and the once so cynical picaroon. The boy's undeterred belief in his birth mother had never ever faltered; and Hook, he had believed in very few things in his long life – his gut feeling, the indispensability of good form... and in Emma Swan, always Emma Swan. And that belief – the boy's at first, and then his, later – had helped her to recognize who she really was and finally believe in herself.

 

He smiled at Henry. “That we do indeed, lad.”

 

“And that's why she needs us,” Henry replied and pointed his right index finger at Hook. “And you're even worse,” he went on. “Look at you: why can't _you_ ever accept it when someone's acknowledging you for something good you did?”

 

Hook tilted his head thoughtfully and looked down at the dangerously gleaming hook that was resting in his lap. He had surely spread a lot of dread through the centuries, his dubious reputation always preceding him in full sail; and mostly, rightfully so. Finally he replied quietly: “Maybe because nobody ever did.” He fixed his eyes on the boy's – earnestly, honestly. “There was not much good to acknowledge,” he admitted soberly.

 

Henry shrugged with all the wisdom of his twelve years. “Things change,” he said and added, after a quick sideways glance to Regina: “People change.” He smiled openly at Hook. “You just gotta get used to it.”

 

Hook returned the smile just as openly and nodded. “Aye, perhaps.”

 

The boy nodded in confirmation and picked up his phone again. Hook assumed that the conversation was over and reached for his beer bottle, when Henry addressed him again. “Killian, can I ask you a question?”

 

Hook stopped the bottle halfway to his mouth. “Sure, boy.”

 

“Could we go down to the harbor one day?” Henry asked almost casually, much to his surprise. “You could teach me something about sailing, like, I don't know... how to use a sextant?” He looked at Hook expectantly.

 

“Sure, if you wish,” Hook replied and tried not to sound too eager; but deep down, he was thrilled by the lad's demand, especially because his Swan had asked him the same thing only a few days ago. Out of the blue, he heard Mary Margaret's voice in his head: _if you want to be a part of this family..._

 

“I'd like to learn more about my father,” Henry went on, and that floored him a little. But that feeling lasted only for one moment, because the boy added with a sincere smile: “...and about you.” He grinned. “I could teach you how to use a phone. You could impress mom.”

 

Hook chuckled. And wasn't there a little pirate in the boy, too! “You're quite the tough negotiant, young sir,” he mocked benevolently.

 

“Is that an _aye_?” Henry teased back.

 

Hook resisted the urge to ruffle the boy's hair. “It's...” he frowned, “how do you say it? _Cool?_ ”

 

Henry laughed. Before he could reply, Mary Margaret called over to them: “Gentlemen, it's ready!”

 

The boy put down the phone immediately and leaned over to Hook in a conspiratorial way, like he'd done before. “We should go,” he said. “She really hates to wait.”

 

Hook nodded gravely. “Then we should make haste indeed.” He leaned to Henry, mirroring his gesture, and motioned vaguely over to the gathered family. “Take it from me, lad: rule number one...”

 

Henry grinned. “Never make a lady wait?” he offered.

 

“Guys...” came Mary Margaret's warning voice from the table, and both guiltily almost jumped to their feet.

 

The little dinner party gathered around the table, and, without any particular order, they all sat down, Emma to Hook's right. For a moment, she ran the back of her left hand over the loose sleeve of his black linen shirt in a casual caress. He threw her his heart-stopping smile, and, a little grumpily still, she smiled back, her earlier annoyance about his shameless innuendo forgotten.

 

Mary Margaret gave out the steaming lasagna, putting an abundantly filled plate in front of everyone; Hook eyed his suspiciously. David poured red wine for his wife, Regina and Emma, the kids had apple juice, and he himself and Hook had their beer. After everyone was provided with food and beverage, David raised his bottle and declared with his sonorous voice: "Here's to another crisis overcome with united forces." He looked at Mary Margaret who answered his unspoken question with a smile and a barely perceptible nod and added: "To family!"

 

" _To family_ ," Mary Margaret echoed just as firmly and raised her wine glass, letting her gaze sweep over each and every one of them, to make sure everybody felt included. The others raised their respective drinks and murmured something in return, too.

 

Henry beamed at Emma, and Hook and Regina exchanged a furtive glance and an ironic little smile that went completely unnoticed by the others. Without being aware of it – but nevertheless suspecting it somehow – both were thinking the same thing at that moment. _Villains don't get their happy endings? Well, Greg, guess what? Surprise._

 

Mary Margaret waved her hands invitingly. "Now, everybody – eat, before it gets cold," she ushered them.

 

Hook grumpily stared at his plate for two full minutes, poking the suspicious dish a few times with his fork. Although he had to admit that the scent rising from the plate was really delicious, he couldn't forget the horrid stuff he had tasted back in New York, when his Swan had him locked up because he had "assaulted" her. For a moment, his mind wandered free, and he smirked to himself when he thought that nowadays, she'd probably do anything to get him to "assault" her like that... a blow against his leather-covered ankle woke him from his thoughts when Emma kicked him under the table. He turned to her and raised a questioning eyebrow, and she gave him a stern look, motioning with her head to his yet untouched plate in a silent order. Sourly, he clenched his jaw, and Emma grinned; only after having admired the twitching muscles in his face. In fact, she'd always loved the thing he did with his jaw.

 

Gruffly, he jabbed his fork into the lasagna, drew a deep breath and shoved the bit of food into his mouth, bracing himself against the horrible sensation of tepid, greasy meat, rancid cheese and slobbery noodle dough against his palate. His eyes popped open when the delicious taste of Mary Margaret's lasagna literally exploded on his tongue, and he started to chew carefully, incredulously. The pasta was anything but mushy, and the meat sauce was hot and well-spiced. He swallowed and quickly helped himself to another bit, all too eagerly repeating the sensation.

 

When he looked up again, he saw Mary Margaret's glance resting on him. She scrutinized him closely, a mocking expression on her face. "So, what do you say, Hook?" she asked pointedly. "Will you survive or perish?" Emma and Henry exchanged a conspiratorial smile, and David grinned to himself.

 

Hastily, Hook swallowed his second bit. "I have to apologize for my earlier skepticism, love," he admitted a little sheepishly. "This does indeed taste as fine as it smells."

 

"I'm _so_ relieved to hear that," Mary Margaret replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Hook tilted his head apologetically and motioned to the plate with his fork. "Who knew the baloney is so much better in Storybrooke than in New York?"

 

"Most things are," Emma threw in without thinking, and suddenly there was complete silence at the table when everybody stopped eating, and everyone's eyes – except for Roland's who kept on munching happily – flew to her. When she realized what she had just said, and that everybody's attention was on her now, she shifted a little uneasily on her chair and hastily looked down on her plate again, vigorously attacking the lasagna with her fork.

 

"Hear, hear," Regina commented with benevolent irony, "that's a very satisfying statement for a Mayor to hear." After a second or two, general laughter erupted, and Emma was relieved when everybody turned to their plates again and resumed the meal.

 

From under her long eyelashes, she threw a furtive glance in Hook's direction and found his sapphire blue gaze resting on her. His smile was very tiny, just so crinkling the skin around his eyes a little and making the corners of his beautiful mouth twitch. _So much better than in New York._ Almost shyly, she returned the smile and averted her eyes again, busying herself with her plate once more. _Yep,_ she thought, _nothing brings a family together like a good homemade lasagna._

 

The rest of the dinner was filled with chatter and laughter and the exchange of their respective adventures and experiences during the last crisis. Emma and Regina had to explain once more how it had happened that the prophecy had finally appeared on Maleficent's staff; the former Evil Queen, on the other hand, was very interested to hear how Emma had managed to open the portal. David and Hook were teased by everybody that they had been rather passive and little heroic in the whole adventure, being trapped in a cage through all their time in the Enchanted Forest. The whole time the atmosphere was filled with lightness and relief that they had come back safely – and, maybe the most unusual thing for all, harmony.

 

No leftovers remained; Hook made a big deal of asking for seconds and praising Mary Margaret's “baloney” in an almost exaggerated manner, until she warned him not to overdo it. After the main dish had been finished, coffee and tea were put on the table along with Regina's apple pie, and as good as the former Evil Queen was dishing out, she could also take ironic remarks that were made. Mary Margaret was the one to roll her eyes at her daughter when Emma commented that this pastry was totally “to die for”.

 

Shortly after the dessert, Roland started to yawn and rub his eyes, and Regina ruffled his hair in a motherly gesture. “Time to get you to bed, I'd say,” she remarked.

 

“But I'm not tired!” the little boy protested. Then he obviously had an idea, and his face lit up. “Can Henry come with us again?” he asked enthusiastically, and when he saw that Regina threw a questioning glance at Emma, he turned to her, flashing her his dimples. “Emma? Pleeeease?”

 

Emma grinned. “Sure he can.” She turned to Henry. “But you're taking your school stuff with you. I want you to go back to school tomorrow.”

 

“Aw Mom!” Henry whined.

 

“No backtalk,” Regina scolded, “your mother is right.”

 

Emma threw her a mildly surprised sideways glance, and Henry rolled his eyes. “ _Really?!_ You choose _this_ moment to agree? Wonderful.”

 

Everybody laughed, and Henry rose from his chair and disappeared in the direction of his room to get his book bag, Roland eagerly traipsing after him. Regina got up and went to get her coat and the boy's jacket. Chairs were pushed back, causing scraping noises, and the general goodbye-ceremony started.

 

“Thanks for the invitation,” Regina said a little stiffly to Mary Margaret; she wasn't very used to accept friendly gestures yet, let alone from her former foe.

 

But Mary Margaret understood. “You're welcome,” she replied and specified: “You're welcome here.”

 

“The next lasagna is on me,” Regina remarked dryly and opened the apartment door when she saw Henry and Roland coming downstairs. The boys started their goodbye-tour.

 

"Regina, wait..." Emma stepped outside for a moment, pulling the apartment door almost shut behind her. The other woman stopped and turned around, a question in her eyes. Emma shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I'm aware that the situation here is not ideal." She motioned her head vaguely to the door behind her. "And I'll be looking for a place to live for me and Henry soon." Regina didn't reply, she just watched her intently, with an almost unreadable expression in her eyes. "I'm sure we can work out a permanent arrangement once all that's settled."

 

Regina tilted her head in a minimalistic nod. "That would be great, Miss Swan."

 

"Look," Emma went on, "I don't know if we'll ever be bosom friends, but..." She drew a deep breath. "We both love Henry and want what is best for him."

 

"That's right," Regina agreed carefully.

 

"And," Emma went on, "I think for once we agree on what's best for him." She paused for a moment before she declared firmly: "I'm his mother." Regina pressed her lips together, and Emma added quickly: "And so are you. I'm sure we can make this work."

 

The other woman hiked her beautiful dark eyes to Emma's, and only a little gleam showed that she appreciated her words. Then her lips curved into the tiniest of smiles. "I'm sure we can, Miss Swan. Emma."

 

The door was pushed open from the inside, and when Emma released her grip, Henry left the apartment, his book bag thrown over his shoulder, and little Roland following him on his heels. Quickly, he let his probing gaze wander to and fro between his two mothers. Even though lately they seemed to have found a state of some kind of mutual respect, with these two you never knew.

 

“You moms okay?” he tried to lighten the situation, in case it was necessary.

 

Emma laughed, and Regina gave him one of her unique, genuine smiles only reserved for him. “Yes, kid, we're okay,” Emma replied and ruffled his hair. “We'll talk tomorrow, after school.”

 

“Cool!” He nodded and grinned, then he rolled his eyes when Roland tugged at his sleeve, pulling him forward. “Alright, alright, I'm coming!”

 

“Wait by the car!” Regina reminded them and turned to Emma again. “Let me know if I can be of any assistance about finding an apartment,” she told her.

 

“Yeah, I will,” Emma nodded, “thanks.” And while Regina turned away after one last friendly nod, Emma called after Henry who was just disappearing around the corner: “And listen to your mother, kid!”

 

Only the tiniest slowing down in her steps and straightening of her shoulders showed from behind that Regina had heard – and furthermore realized – what Emma had said. She kept her smile to herself.

 

Meanwhile inside, Hook was watching everybody more or less depart – David had disappeared to look after the baby, and Emma's mother was rummaging at the kitchen isle – and took it as a general signal that the evening get-together was over. It had been a very pleasant occasion, he admitted to himself; it had felt new and at times a little awkward for him, but slowly, he started to adapt to that – being accepted, a valued member of a community... a _family_. _You can be a part of something._ It seemed like that was coming true not only for his Swan, but also for himself. And he was surprised that he liked it more than he ever thought he would, especially after being alone and on his own for three hundred years.

 

A pleased smile was playing around his lips when he went to the coat rack and reached for his heavy leather coat.

 

"And where do you think you're going?" Mary Margaret's voice came from behind and woke him from his thoughts. He turned around on his heels and saw her standing directly in front of him, a kitchen towel thrown over her shoulder, her arms folded. Bloody hell, the women of this family were talented in sneaking up on him. She was eyeing him almost severely.

 

"Oh, I..." he motioned between his coat and the almost closed door, "I think I should..."

 

The princess bandit took a step nearer and lowered her voice a little. "I want my daughter to stay here tonight," she said firmly, and Hook scratched behind his ear and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, she went on: "And we both know where _she_ wants to be." She patted his leather-clad chest. "You're staying."

 

Hook thought he'd heard wrong and tilted his head with a clueless frown. "Pardon me?"

 

"You heard me," Mary Margaret replied almost grumpily and turned her back on him without waiting for an answer, leaving him completely bewildered. But before she walked away, she looked over her shoulder again and added quietly, with a soft expression on her face: "Last night she almost went insane with worry when you and David had fallen through that portal. She tried to hold up, but the mere possibility of losing you...” she shrugged. “I know how she felt." And with that, she left him standing there, having amazed him once more.

 

He couldn't believe that she'd just compared Emma's feelings for him to her own feelings for David. Damn that princess bandit, she was worse than himself when it came to always having something up her sleeve. He rolled his tongue through his cheek and shook his head to himself with a little amazed grin, then he threw a last glance at his coat – _hang in there_ – and tucked his thumb in his belt.

 

Emma entered the apartment again, after having said her goodbyes to Henry, Roland and Regina and saw him standing a little clumsily beside the coat rack, assuming he was about to take his leave, too. "Hey, you already leaving?" she asked and casually brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand that was resting against his belt buckle. "Let me just help Mary Margaret with the dishes, and we can..."

 

Hook had found his wits again and shot her his dazzling smile. “No need to make haste,” he waved her off nonchalantly. "Looks like I'm staying, love."

 

Emma frowned. "What are you saying?"

 

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in a shrug. "The lady of the house invited me to spend the night here."

 

Her jaw dropped, and she looked at her mother putting away something in the fridge, then turned her wide, incredulous eyes back to him. "She did _what?!_ " She was sure she'd heard wrong.

 

He quirked a mocking eyebrow. "You don't seem all too thrilled, Swan," he commented teasingly, "I thought you'd missed me? Would you prefer me to leave?"

 

She smiled that coy little smile that was reserved only for him and averted her eyes for a moment to steal a glance on his beautiful mouth that was curved into his tiny smirk. "I think not," she replied in a flirtatious voice. “I'm just a little... surprised.”

 

"Good." He winked when he started to walk past her, and she was taken aback for a moment. "Come on then." He chuckled hoarsely at her clueless frown. "Didn't you want to clean the dishes?" Emma's gaze followed him approach the table with her mouth hanging open, and she watched as he loaded himself neatly with empty plates, deftly using his hook in the process.

 

He carefully balanced them on his hand and carried them over to the kitchen sink where Mary Margaret was busying herself. “What are you doing?!” she huffed and took the pile from him. “You're not going anywhere near my plates with that thing!” she told him and nudged his hooked arm a little roughly.

 

Hook tilted his head and held up his metal attachment. “Why, Milady, are you telling me that you trust me to handle your...” – he paused to grin mischievously – “... _children_ with that _thing_ , but not your tableware?”

 

Mary Margaret flashed him an amused glare. “Neatly observed, pirate.”

 

He pursed his lips and swayed his head from side to side, putting on a theatrically thoughtful face, and briefly touched his scruffy chin with thumb and index finger. “I really don't know if I should feel offended or honored by that statement.”

 

Mary Margaret threw a sideways glance at her daughter who was cleaning up the table with a slightly confused look on her face; then she stepped into Hook's personal space once more and bore her eyes into his. “And I think you know that _exactly_ ,” she told him with benevolent irony and gave him a little push. “Go get yourself another beer and find a cozy place to sit. Emma will be with you in a few minutes.”

 

He cocked his head in his ironic little bow, carefully hiding how happy he was about her casualness with having him in her home, and Mary Margaret waved him off dismissively, her attention already turned to Emma who was approaching the kitchen sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. Somehow, she had it in her guts that a little mother-daughter talk was coming up.

 

"Where's dad?" Emma asked.

 

"He's taking care of Neal," her mother replied with a sigh. "Your brother's a bad, bad sleeper."

 

"I'm sorry to hear that, mom..." Emma started to scrape the remnants on the plates in the waste bin, but then paused what she was doing and looked at her mother probingly. "Tell me... how can you stomach all of this?"

 

Mary Margaret turned to her daughter, eyes wide open in surprise. "Are you thinking of having a baby?" she asked almost eagerly.

 

"What?!" Emma was taken aback. "God, _no!_ "

 

Mary Margaret shrugged. "Well, it's not _that_ far fetched, is it?" She threw a sideways glance to the couch in the back of the big living room where Hook had just sat down and stretched out his long legs in those damn black leather pants. "I mean, you two are..."

 

"Mom!" Emma scolded, but then her gaze followed her mother's. _That_ thought hadn't even crossed her mind, the thought of having a family, a _baby_ with him... a little boy maybe, with blue eyes and dark hair and dancing eyebrows, and... she blushed and slapped herself mentally. What the _hell_ was she thinking? " _Really?!_ ” She leaned towards her mother, carefully keeping her voice down. Hook really didn't need to overhear any of this. “We're together like... four days!" she pointed out.

 

Mary Margaret grinned to herself and tilted her head ironically. "You keep telling yourself that." Emma didn't reply and busied herself with the dishes. "Anyway," her mother went on, "if you weren't talking about the joys of parenthood – what did you mean, how can I stomach it?"

 

Emma put the plates down again. “The constant worrying,” she replied and, when her mother furrowed her brow in question, explained: “How many times have you feared that you'd lose dad?”

 

“Oh, that.” Mary Margaret put her hands on the sink as if to steady herself. She nodded and looked at her daughter. “At some point, I stopped counting,” she admitted.

 

Emma scrutinized her closely. “Have you never wished...” – she shrugged – “that you didn't love him? So you could have avoided all that pain?”

 

Mary Margaret's expression went serious when she understood what was on her daughter's mind. She nodded. “You know I have. I even tried it with the forgetting potion.” For a moment, her gaze drifted away, lost in another world, another time.

 

“And how was that?” Emma wanted to know. “How did it feel?” She knew all these stories, she knew them from the book, but she still had to learn so much more about them.

 

Mary Margaret's smile had a sad touch. “I got what I wanted,” she told Emma, “a quiet, peaceful existence.” She shrugged. “No pain. No feelings at all.” A shadow flew over her face, and then she focused on Emma again. “I was just comfortably numb.” She shook her head. “But that wasn't living. Inside, I was dead.”

 

Emma nodded slowly. “I think I know what you mean.” She sighed. “It's what I tried most of my life...” She heard her mother's voice, from a long time ago: _That wall of yours, it may keep out pain, but it also may keep out love..._

 

Mary Margaret turned to her daughter and put her hands on her shoulders. “Emma,” she said softly, “when you love someone – a friend, a child, a lover – , at some point you will always suffer. But you'll also get so much in return.”

 

Emma looked down at her hands. “I know,” she murmured.

 

Her mother brought her right hand to her cheek, a very motherly gesture, and Emma faced her again. “All you have to ask yourself,” the dark-haired woman said, “is if it's worth it.” Emma nodded again, and Mary Margaret smiled. “And I think you have answered yourself that question already.”

 

Emma returned the smile and put her hand over her mother's. “Thanks, mom.”

 

Mary Margaret leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, then she rolled down her sleeves with determination. “You know what? I'll leave that for tomorrow and see if your father needs my help.” She winked at her. “Don't stay up late.” And with that, she turned around and headed for the stairs.

 

Emma turned around and looked over the room at Hook who had put his beer bottle on the coffee table and was resting his head against the backrest of the couch. His whole composure was relaxed, like he belonged there. She felt a cozy warmth spread through her body and smiled when she crossed the room to join him. He had closed his eyes for a moment and only noticed her when she was standing right beside him. As if he had sensed her presence, his eyes flew open. Like so many times, their absolute gorgeousness hit her right into the pit of her stomach. He added his heart-stopping grin on top, and she felt the all-too-familiar weakness already in her knees.

 

She smiled down at him and asked playfully: “May I have a seat?”

 

He tilted his head in a pleased nod and tapped the empty couch at his left side invitingly with his hook. “It's always a pleasure to have you. _Beside me_ ,” he quickly added with a mischievous grin.

 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head but eagerly settled on the couch, crossing her legs like a schoolgirl. He had his body turned to her, and his hooked arm was resting almost nonchalantly on the back of the couch. It warmed his heart to notice that she moved in close to him with absolute naturalness and bare of any hesitance, until she was comfortably leaning into him. Emma rested her head on his shoulder, and for a few wonderful quiet moments they just enjoyed the nearness and peacefulness, the mutual warmth; then, she brought herself into a more upright position again, so she'd be able to look at him.

 

Half incredulously, half amusedly she inquired: “Did my mother really tell you to stay here tonight?”

 

Hook tilted his head and pursed his perfect lips into a grin. “What can I do, she has apparently a soft spot for me.”

 

She raised an ironic eyebrow. “Please, “she chastised. “You think every woman does.”

 

He ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “I have yet to meet one who doesn't.”

 

Although her stomach had done a minute backflip at his sinful gesture, Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you're obviously God's gift to women.”

 

He let out one of his damn little amused chuckles that had always made her toes curl. “I used to be indeed, from what the fair ladies told me.” She threw him a glare – she really didn't need to hear how many ports he'd made for in the past – and he dropped his voice even lower. “But, nowadays I give meself only to one of them.” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows teasingly. “She's one jealous lass. Wants me all to herself.”

 

Emma suppressed her grin. “She does?” she retorted ironically, and he just nodded gravely. She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "How selfish. And does she have other issues, too?"

 

The fine crinkles around his eyes deepened affectionately, and that teasing glint was dancing in his blue irises. "Aye, some," he replied.

 

"Sounds like a hard piece of work..." Emma's voice was still playful and teasing, but there was a little seriousness floating in a nuance somewhere underneath the surface, and maybe also a hidden apology and a question.

 

Hook swayed his head thoughtfully and scratched behind his ear. "Perhaps she's just a little... complicated."

 

She swallowed and thought for a moment how lucky she actually was that despite all her efforts to keep him at arm's length, he'd never allowed her to push him away for good. "You really, really don't like to give up, do you?" she asked, her voice a little croaky all of a sudden.

 

He saw that her eyes were glittering suspiciously and smoothed out her hair with his hook in that familiar, almost casual gesture that was so typical for him. "Well, I'm quite persistent,” he told her lightly and popped the 't' a little. “And I do love a challenge."

 

She averted her eyes for a moment and smiled at the memory of him saying that to her when they'd been climbing up that beanstalk, ages ago. No, he'd indeed never taken her behavior as off-putting; persistence was his middle name. _And look how far we've come,_ she thought. Then she hiked her eyes up to his face again, only to find _his_ eyes resting on hers, almost caressing her with his gaze, and she asked in a girlish, almost anxious voice:  "Is she worth it?"

 

For a split second, his face fell and his jaw clenched when a hot pang of anger about her question, her searching for reassurance shot through him – not anger at her, but anger at all those people – _men_ – in her past that had made her think she was _not_ worth it. Then he blinked and replied slowly, deliberately, never taking his eyes off of hers: "All the treasures in the world wouldn't be enough to measure the value of her smile."

 

For a brief moment, Emma had to avert her eyes and nodded with a smile. Why had she even bothered to ask; that man had not only risked his life for her on numerous occasions, he had actually _given up_ his life for her – at least his life as he knew it – without ever expecting or asking anything in return. No, for the most part of her life she had never had anyone put her first – but she knew by now that she meant the world to _him_ , and more. He would always put her first, because she was worth it. Because he loved her. It was time to take the last leap of faith and let him know unmistakably that she felt the same about him. She looked into his eyes that were still calmly resting on her face and swallowed.

 

Then she took a deep breath. "Killian... what I said to you yesterday...” – her mouth was so dry she had to moisten her lips before she went on: “I really meant it."

 

Mirroring her gesture, Hook ran his tongue over his lips, but it wasn't a lewd or sinful gesture at all this time; a little nervousness scraped at the back of his neck. He knew all of a sudden what she was aiming at; she had told him that she loved him, yes – but it had been in the light of impending danger, after a reluctant goodbye with the terrifying prospect of perhaps never seeing him again, the adrenaline and fear running through her veins. He knew that hadn't been the reason for her to say it, only the trigger. He knew her feelings were real, that she'd really meant what she'd said. But she probably thought she had to confirm. As much as he would have loved to hear the words again, he didn't want her to feel _obliged_ to say them, only to underline their sincerity, if she wasn't ready yet.

 

He raised his hand, as if trying to stop her. “Swan, 's alright. You don't have to...”

 

Emma sat bold upright now, but also leaned a little forward, piercing his eyes with hers, to make sure she had his full attention. She really needed him to understand that for her _saying_ the words was almost more important than for him to hear them.

 

“Yes, I _do_!” she contradicted firmly and licked her lips again. “Look, I know that you... _know_ it. That you knew long before I did.” She shrugged. “I know that you probably know me better than I know myself, open book and all, but...” She paused for a moment, obviously searching for the right words, while Hook listened attentively, barely daring to breathe. His Swan didn't look like she felt obliged to do anything she didn't really feel comfortable with – on the contrary, she looked like she was bursting with the absolute urge to take the final leap of faith, bigger than anything she had said or done with him during these last four days. It astounded him, however, that she didn't look scared at all. No, she was obviously more than ready. Then who was he to stop her? She drew a deep breath. “You and me,” she finally went on, “we both _deserve_ the words.”

 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and they just looked at each other. Emma's expression was serious, almost solemn, and the tender skin around Hook's eyes slightly crinkled when he smiled that tiny smile of his that was reserved only for her, full of love and encouragement. It was that same smile he had given her down there in The Dark One's vault, when she had thought she'd never get to see her home, her family again, and then suddenly, when she had been thinking about her _home_ and how she missed it, her magic had resurfaced and the magic wand had started to glow; Hook's smile had, like always, made her feel instantly better, and more – it had said _See? You should really have more faith in yourself. I told you you could do it._ Now it tenderly prompted her to go ahead: _Tell me everything, Swan. I'm listening. I'm not going anywhere._

 

She didn't even feel the tears that were welling up in her eyes; she just smiled. "I love you," she said slowly, deliberately, clearly – savoring every single word that once seemed so difficult to voice and now fell so effortlessly from her lips. “I didn't believe it would ever be possible, but...” She shrugged and added in an astonished voice, still full of wonder: “It's so easy.”

 

Hook blinked and looked at her in awe – he knew it hadn't been easy for her to allow herself to love again, to trust anybody, and he knew that _he_ of all people hadn't exactly been easy to trust in the beginning. All the more impressive it was how she seemed to have forgotten all of that and turned over a completely new leaf for him – _with_ him. _I'm in the book now._ So that was it – there was no going back from this. Not that he had expected it anyway, butin a way, he still couldn't believe his luck – it still seemed a bit unreal to him. After all the things he'd done in the past, the life he'd lived, all the years he'd wasted, he'd found a soul as damaged and lost as his own, and suddenly everything had fallen into place. He didn't reply; he just waited. She looked like she wasn't done yet.

 

Emma could read on his face, in his glittering eyes that he was asking himself the same questions she'd been asking herself when it came to his obvious feelings for her, his unfaltering persistence and quiet patience: _why me? How do I deserve this?_ And she wanted so much to explain it to him, she wanted to make him understand  why _he_ deserved it, _why_ she loved him... and then she realized that she couldn't.

 

Sure, she could have added that she loved the way his eyebrows went up all the time and all by themselves and the way he scratched behind his ear when he was embarrassed; or the way he tilted his head instead of a nod or a bow or a shrug; that she loved his gorgeous eyes that were bluer than the ocean on a sunny day, and the way they'd always looked through each and every one of her layers and walls, right to the bottom of her soul, like no one ever could; his melodious voice and his very own way of speaking with that little accent, and the way he talked with his hand; his swagger, that heavily grounded way he walked, trained by centuries of steadying himself on swaying planks; oh, and the way he rolled his tongue through his mouth... she loved all that about him, but none of it was the actual reason for the depth of her feelings.

 

She also didn't love him because he'd always been there for her, at her side, having her back, and never abandoned her; she didn't love him because he'd given up his ship for her to bring her home and then had _really_ brought her home in so many different ways; she didn't love him because he was the only one who could always make her smile and feel better, no matter how awful and desperate she was feeling – and on the other hand never shied back from calling her out on her bullshit whenever he felt she needed to hear it; and no, she didn't love him because he was obviously a heaven-sent sex _god_ with the amorous skills of a hellish devil that regaled her with sensual pleasures and ecstasy she'd never felt before and never thought possible – although _that_ surely didn't hurt. All of these were facts, granted – but they were not the reasons why she loved him. There was nothing to explain, in fact – because love cannot be explained. She simply loved him because her heart told her so.

 

So, she just shrugged, almost apologetically. "That's all I can say. I love you."

 

Hook swallowed the lump in his incredibly dry throat, and for a moment, his jaw tightened. His eyes were still smiling. He took one of her silky locks between his ringed fingers and let it run through them like a string of priceless pearls, watching the reflection of the dim light on the shiny strand. Then he looked up at her again, and his eyes found hers which were sparkling at him brighter than the finest emeralds he'd ever seen.

 

“And I love you,” he finally replied, his voice maybe a little huskier than usual. “Perhaps more than you'll ever know.” He let go of her hair and put his hand to her face, his rough fingertips just-so touching the delicate skin of her cheek, as if he was exploring it for the first time.

 

Emma smiled at him and waited, waited for him to move. They were on equal terms now; she had taken the final step after he'd patiently waited for her to call every single shot. And he understood, because it was so clearly readable in her eyes: she was as much and completely his as he was hers, and he didn't need her permission or anxiously check her reaction before making a move. When she had kissed him on the porch outside Granny's, four long nights ago, everything had been different – overwhelming, unsure, new. Although he'd seen her intentions in her eyes back then, he'd waited like paralyzed, waited until she'd come over to him all the way, until he'd felt her lips actually touch his before he'd dared to put his hand to her head and finally respond to her kiss. Now, it was  _ still _ overwhelming and new, but all insecurity had gone. She wouldn't back off; there was no danger anymore that this was too fast, too far, too much for her. She'd just laid her heart at his feet without hesitation, trusting him not to crush it.  _ Emma Swan was truly and completely his.  _

 

He slid his hand to the back of her head, his fingers combing through her hair, and leaned forward, pulling her nearer at the same time, until their smiling lips touched.

 

They kissed tenderly, slowly... as if they had all the time in the world. They were swaying back and forth a little, like a reprise of their kiss on Granny's porch, but although it looked similar, it was so different. This kiss was so much more intimate because it was shared with utter confidence from both sides, completely open and natural, and in the cozy privacy of a living room. Emma's father or mother could have surprised them any moment, but that didn't bother either of them. They felt both completely at home with each other. The kiss was soft and sweet, but also firm and with a trace of passion at the same time and the intimate knowledge of what that passion could and would lead to... and the promise it held. Not only for now, but for the future that lay ahead for them. Emma felt a warmth spread throughout her body and a soft humming of her skin, and it was unlike anything she had ever felt before. And then she started to _glow_ ; there was no other way to describe the soft, indirect light that seemed to seep through every single one of her pores and surround them and bathe them in a faint silvery light. _It was pure magic._

 

After what seemed an eternity, their lips finally parted, and for a moment they just sat there, foreheads resting against each other, eyes still closed. Then a little laugh shook Emma's chest.

 

Hook tilted his head back to look at her. “What?” he asked softly, and she licked her lips and shook her head with a smile.

 

“I'm in love with _Captain Hook_ ,” she murmured, “how the hell did _that_ happen?”

 

“Oh, that.” He chuckled and tilted his head in a shrug. “Well, I for one knew it the moment I laid eyes on you, love,” he commented nonchalantly.

 

“Oh yeah?” Emma raised her eyebrows. “And which moment was that exactly?” she demanded to know, an obvious teasing in her voice. “When I grabbed your hair and held a blade to your throat or when I tied you to a tree and _then_ held a blade to your throat?”

 

Hook pressed his perfect lips together in a fake pout. “Perhaps a little later,” he replied smoothly. “But by the time we set foot on that beanstalk, you were doomed, Swan. Admit it.” When she cocked her head to the side and gave him her best _really?_ -glare, he scratched behind his ear and added generously: “ You're not to blame for that, love.” He smirked, all dashing rapscallion. “I'm a force of nature, after all.”

 

Emma couldn't help but laugh. “I think it's safe to say that,” she gave in benevolently.

 

He flashed her his heart-stopping smile and smoothed out her hair with his hook again. “You look tired,” he told her softly. “We should go to bed.”

 

Emma grinned a little sheepishly and had suddenly lowered her voice to a whisper. “Regina says we're noisy...”

 

Hook cocked his head to the side and whispered back, eyebrows twitching: “We are indeed noisy, love. Which is mostly assignable to the fact that _you_...” – he poked her chest slightly with his ringed index finger – “...can't keep your voice down...” Her green eyes widened and her head snapped back, but before she could give him a fiery reply, he added with a smooth grin: “Of course, I'm more than glad to be held accountable for that.”

 

She shot her finger at him like a bullet. “I can...”

 

“Oh please, Swan,” he drawled in an amused voice, “I think it's safe to say that everybody within not so short distance of my bedroom knows my first name by now.”

 

She blushed deeply and slapped him on his chest with the back of her hand. “ _God_ , Hook, you're such a smug...”

 

“Besides,” he interrupted, still whispering, “I meant – let's go to _sleep_. Not what _you_ had on your wanton mind, wench.”

 

“I hate you,” she hissed, yet obvious in her teasing.

 

“Too late to pretend,” Hook chuckled, reveling in the truth of his words and in the secure feeling that she finally had accepted that truth and reveled in it, too. He made a move to rise from the couch, but Emma held him back by his sleeve.

 

“No, let's just stay here for a little longer,” she demanded and, when he sank back on his seat again, explained: “It's such a _normal_ thing to do.” She looked at him questioningly; not sure if he had understood what she meant, but of course he had. It was about bloody time for some normal things like this family dinner tonight; having fun with the kids in the park or by the water, like he was planning to do soon; or just snuggling up to each other in a cozy place, doing nothing but talk – or not even that – and enjoying quiet moments and each other's nearness. Instead of a reply, Hook just sat down in the corner of the couch again and raised his left arm invitingly; Emma flopped down beside him with a smile and found her place in his embrace again, neatly snuggling up to his left side, her left arm draped over his chest. Before she nestled into a comfortable position, she pressed a kiss to the left side of his warm, scruffy throat and murmured: “Only ten minutes.”

 

Emma heard his reply like a soothing hum deep in his throat: “As you wish...”

 

She smiled against his skin and barely managed to finish her thought about how good he smelled before she fell asleep.

 

Some time later, Mary Margaret descended the stairs to fetch a bottle of water; since she'd been breastfeeding Neal, she often woke up in the middle of the night, burning with thirst. She was a little surprised to see there was still dim light on; the first thing she noticed when her eyes scanned the spacious living room was Hook's silhouette on the sofa, and she slightly shook her head to herself. Had the pirate thought he was supposed to spend the night here downstairs on the couch while Emma would be tossing and turning alone in her bed? He was really overdoing it with that good form thing.

 

She approached with gentle steps, a slight frown creasing her brow. Only when she'd halfway crossed the room, she realized that Emma was on the couch too; she was asleep, a slight smile curving her lips, and Mary Margaret could have sworn that the faint ghost of a glow was hovering over her daughter's skin. While Hook was sitting in an upright position with his feet on the floor, her legs were up, folded to the side, and she'd snuggled closely up to him, her head on his shoulder and her left arm wrapped tightly over his chest, while his hooked arm was carefully draped around her and his hand was resting on hers. He was awake, his gaze lost somewhere, a slight smile playing around his lips.

 

Mary Margaret smiled fondly when she took in the intimate, tender scenery that unfolded before her eyes. She slowed down her steps, not wanting to wake Emma up. The pirate raised his head that had been touched to Emma's, and tilted his head at her with a sheepish grin. She folded her arms and shook her head at him.

 

"Hook,” she addressed him quietly, “what are you doing here?"

 

Slowly, he turned his head to face her, careful not to disturb Emma in her sleep. He looked at Mary Margaret over her daughter's blonde head that was still resting against the side of his chest. "Why, Milady, I believe you bade me to spend the night under your roof," he replied in an amused voice.

 

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes in that typical way that made him always fear they'd get stuck somewhere inside her head; Hook had seen many a woman roll their eyes at him, but none had literally elevated that to an art form like the princess bandit. "You know what I mean," she huffed and waved her hand impatiently. "There's no need for you to sleep on the couch. You were supposed to stay in Emma's room." She folded her arms and raised her chin in that haughty way of hers. "We're all grown up here."

 

He tilted his head again and grinned a little sheepishly before scratching behind his ear. "She fell asleep," he explained almost apologetically and tenderly pushed one of the blonde locks out of the way that had fallen over Emma's sleeping face.

 

Mary Margaret pressed her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress her smile. "I can see that," she replied softly and gestured towards the sleeping figure of her daughter huddled against the leather-clad chest of her pirate. "Why don't you just wake her up and get her upstairs?” she suggested. “You're cold and uncomfortable."

 

His gaze dropped on Emma's head, and his lips curved into an almost absentminded smile. He murmured under his breath: “That's a cross I'm willing to bear.”

 

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes once more and snorted an ironic little laugh while slowly shaking her head at him; then she wordlessly picked up a quilt from a basket beside the couch and threw it loosely over Emma and Hook's lap. Emma stirred a little in her sleep and sighed. He picked up the plaid at the corner and pulled it more up, carefully tucking Emma in, then he cocked his head at Mary Margaret; it was his very own little bow.

 

“Thank you, Milady,” he purred and winked at her with a grin. 

 

And suddenly, Mary Margaret was catapulted back to the Enchanted Forest again, to the foot of a beanstalk, where he had said the exact same words to her, in exactly the same husky voice and with that same wink – although with a great deal of lewdness added on top back then that was completely missing now. And she, instead of loosening his bonds, would've had gladly thrown a sack over his handsome smirking face and dragged him back to the ogre lawn, stringing him to a tree and leaving him to his fate. Her own experience of being an outlaw had taught her to smell trouble a mile against the wind, and the moment that fake blacksmith had revealed his true identity, the moment she'd pulled out the perilously gleaming steel hook out of his satchel, she'd known he _was_ trouble, and she'd been right.

 

But then, much later, she'd started to see him with different eyes – after she'd learned the hard way how easy it was to give in to the dark side when the hunger for revenge became the driving force of your very existence and every means seemed justified to get it. When you got so consumed by hot rage and cold hatred that your soul was burned and blackened by the fire and frozen to death at the same time, sucking out all life, all _love_. All that went through her head when she saw him settled down there on her couch like he belonged there, after having helped to save her family yet _again_ , tenderly cradling her daughter's head against his leather-clad chest like it was the most precious thing in the world to him.

 

Well, she knew that, in some ways, Hook still believed in that – that the end, the greater cause justified the means; she'd been astounded to learn from David that he had traded his ship for a magic bean because it had been the only way to get to Emma after the second curse had brought them all back to Storybrooke and she'd been stuck in New York with Henry, but without any memories. Yes, she'd been astounded, but – if she was honest – not really surprised.

 

Mary Margaret just gave a barely perceptible nod of her head and quietly replied: “Good night, pirate.” Her voice held nothing but unveiled fondness.

 

She turned around and crossed the room silently. When she climbed up the stairs, Hook grinned and kicked off his boots. He put his feet up on Mary Margaret's coffee table and leaned his head on the backrest of the couch, tightening his embrace around Emma's shoulders. She stirred again in her sleep, murmured something unintelligible and nestled the top of her head against his scruffy chin.

 

It looked indeed like they were in for some smooth sailing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue soon, so stay tuned.


	12. Epilogue: Perhaps I Would

 

Only a few days later, it was Saturday and Emma had her free day, she trotted downstairs in her pajama pants and tank top, her eyes still half closed, hoping she wouldn't meet anybody just yet; she'd just never be a morning person. Of course, that hope was crushed immediately; her mother was sitting at the kitchen table with Neal on her arm, and Henry was just carrying a steaming mug over to the table, putting it with a determined gesture at the place where she normally sat.

 

“About time!” he commented and flapped the newspaper right beside the mug. Mary Margaret grinned to herself.

 

“Good morning to you too, kid,” Emma grumbled and slumped on her chair. “What's up with that?” She grabbed the mug and motioned her head to the newspaper before taking a sip of the aromatic beverage.

 

“I found the perfect apartment for us,” he announced and sat down right opposite her.

 

Emma's eyes widened in surprise. “You've been looking for an apartment?”

 

“Ever since you said we'd stay in Storybrooke.” He tapped his finger on an ad he had encircled with a bright red line. “I thought it would be nice to find one down by the harbor,” he told her and added in an almost casual tone: “Killian would like that.”

 

She felt a slight blush creep over her neck and face. “What?” she played innocent.

 

Henry rolled his eyes. “ _Mom_ . Really?”

 

Mary Margaret suppressed a chuckle while observing the conversation between mother and son. Sometimes it was amazing how alike they were. Emma ignored the sound her mother made and raised her hands, trying to cover up her embarrassment. “Kid... this is about  _us_ ,” she clarified. “Not about... Killian.” Her blush deepened a little; she wasn't used yet to saying his name in such a casual way to her son, although Hook had told her about the little talk he'd had with Henry a few days ago, before the memorable lasagna family dinner. 

 

The boy grinned. “Okay.  _I_ would like it. Better?”

 

Emma frowned but had to suppress a grin herself; of course it made her happy that obviously Henry had thought about Killian and wasn't afraid to say it out loud. She took the newspaper. “So, this one's perfect, you say?” she inquired, not pursuing the subject any further.

 

“Totally!” Henry replied eagerly and pointed to the framed ad. “It has two storeys, two bedrooms, a huge bathroom and a small one, a spare room, a huge kitchen and a living room...” he seemed so excited that he almost stumbled over his own words, and his enthusiasm was truly infectious. “And,” he finally added almost triumphantly, “as an extra bonus – the landlord is _not_ my grandfather... grandfather Gold, I mean.”

 

Emma tilted her head and scrutinized her son closely. The kid had taken a liking of some kind to his paternal grandfather, but he also knew that the family's relationship with him wasn't uncomplicated and that his mother would appreciate not being dependent on him. “You thought about everything, didn't you?” Henry didn't reply, but he looked pretty satisfied with himself.

 

“It does sound wonderful,” Mary Margaret threw in. “And... sea air is of course good for a child's health,” she added with a mischievous glint shining on her face. Emma rolled her eyes. Somehow, her mother had obviously turned into the vice president of the Killian-Jones-fanclub, a close second after its undisputed president David Nolan. Secretly, of course, she was more than happy about that.

 

“I'll tell you something, kid,” she said to Henry, ignoring her mother's last remark. “Right after I finish this” – she waved her coca mug at him – “I'll give the owner a call and...”

 

“Done,” he replied and folded his arms on the table. “It's an old lady. She's there all morning, and we could go to have a look at it right now.” He raised his chin very Mary-Margaret-like and grinned like a Ceshire cat.

 

Emma's jaw dropped. “Whoa, you're really not wasting any time, are you?”

 

Henry shrugged. “Mom, with a perfect place like this you have to be really quick. Or someone else will get it.” He glanced furtively at his watch.

 

“Okay, okay,” Emma yielded and downed the rest of her cocoa. “Let me just take a shower and...”

 

She was interrupted by a determined knock at the door; a knock she'd have recognized one in a million, solid steel on wood. “That man's timing is impeccable,” Mary Margaret commented in an amused voice, adding a little sing-song to the last word. 

 

Emma's eyes flew to her. “I don't...”

 

“Oh no!” Henry exclaimed a little too theatrically and jumped up from his chair, heading for the door. “I totally forgot...”

 

“Forgot what?” Emma demanded to know and raised a wary eyebrow; she had no clue what was going on here, and that was something she absolutely didn't like, because something was _definitely_ going on. The door swung open and gave her free sight on Hook standing in the doorway in all his black leather glory. Her stomach did a little annoying backflip. “What are you doing here?” she asked a little harshly.

 

Before he could reply, Henry stepped aside to wave him in and explained a little hastily: “Mom, I was going with Killian to the electronic store, he needs to look for a phone...” 

 

A little less cockily than usual Hook entered the apartment, scanning the faces of the three generations united in the room, trying to understand the vibes here. "Morning, Swan,” he greeted tentatively and tilted his head in his just-so bow towards Mary Margaret. “Milady." The dark-haired woman returned his gesture with an amused expression on her face while Emma was eyeing her son suspiciously. Hook scratched behind his ear. "Look, if it's a bad time..."

 

"No, no," Henry interrupted hastily, "we still can go. If you don't mind that we stop by the harbor first."

 

The pirate frowned, and it was obvious that he had no clue what was going on. "The harbor?" he echoed.

 

"Yes," the boy confirmed and threw a furtive sideways glance at his mother who had her arms folded and was still scrutinizing him. "Mom and I are going to look at an apartment we might rent." He grinned at his mother's boyfriend. "You could come with us, and afterward we can go and buy your phone."

 

Hook pursed his lips and tilted his head. "Sure," he replied after a moment, "if that's okay with your mother?" His eyes darted to his lover whose impression left him a bit confused; she seemed partly amused, partly pleased and partly grumpy. Now she threw her hands in the air in an exaggerated  _so-what?_ -gesture.

 

"Of course, it's fine!" she gave in and pushed back her chair.  _And why not_ , she thought and found that in some way she was actually looking forward to examining her potential new apartment with Hook by her side. “If you guys give me twenty minutes to get ready, I'm right with you,” she added. When she walked past her son, she leaned a little forward and growled into his ear: “I see what you did there, Mr. Smartypants.” Then she slapped the back of his head playfully, threw Hook a little smile and headed for the stairs.

 

“I'll get my stuff,” Henry announced and was about to turn around when he felt the sharp tip of the steel hook at his shoulder, stopping him.

 

“Whither so apace, m'boy?” Hook asked pointedly and tilted his head, giving him the eyebrow. “So, confess. You didn't really fail to remember our appointment, did you?”

 

Henry shrugged and grinned. “I thought it would be nice to have a third opinion,” he explained a little lamely and quickly made his way upstairs too when Hook let him go, his grin and appreciative glance following. Really, that lad was to his liking.

 

“Come on, Hook, have a seat,” Mary Margaret's voice woke him from his thoughts, and he turned around. She motioned with her head to the closet over the kitchen sink and added: “If you want some tea, fetch a mug. I made a fresh pot.”

 

He just shook his head with a smile and sat down on a chair opposite her. She was rocking a half-asleep Neal in her arms and Hook waved his hand in the infant's direction. “How's the prince faring?” he asked.

 

Mary Margaret shrugged. “He slept five hours last night,” she told him. “I'd be really thrilled about it if I wasn't too exhausted.”

 

His hand reached out for Emma's empty cocoa mug she'd left on the table and started to play with it absentmindedly. “You're doing great,” he told Mary Margaret and focused on her cat-like green eyes that were so much like her daughter's. “Which is of course nothing less than I expected from you.”

 

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I'm flattered,” she replied a little dryly, “but what makes you say that? Do you think I'm supernatural or what?”

 

Hook pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not at all, love. But you're surely the toughest lass ever to roam the Enchanted Forest.”

 

She grinned briefly at the compliment which she knew was sincere, but then sighed. “You really think that? Because I don't feel very badass right now,”

 

Hook was thrown off track for a moment that the princess bandit admitted a weakness to him of all people, and secretly, he was happy about it. He cocked his head and pointed his index finger at her. “I can assure you, Milady, your sass is still as sharp as ever.”

 

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Save your smooth talk for my daughter, pirate,” she rebuffed him, yet her voice was anything but hostile. “She's looking for a nest,” she added after a few moments and bore her green eyes into his. “Make sure she chooses a good one.”

 

Before he could reply, Henry came back and enveloped him an a conversation about smartphones, deliberately avoiding the subject of the apartment they were going to see. Mary Margaret left them to their technical details and went upstairs to put Neal in his crib after he'd had finally fallen asleep. Soon after that, Emma came downstairs and smiled secretly at the sight of her son and her lover sticking their heads together, while Henry was explaining the pirate some feature of his phone.

 

“Can we go, guys?” she interrupted them. 

 

Henry immediately jumped up from his chair. “Finally!” he exclaimed and hurried to the door to open it and storm outside.

 

Emma's fond gaze followed him, and when she reached Hook who had gotten up from his seat as well, she stopped and just looked at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. He raised his left arm and smoothed out her hair with his hook, pushing a lock behind her shoulder, the tender gesture his long-familiar safe-for-public caress. 

 

“Are you sure you don't mind me accompanying you, Swan?” he asked softly, but also a little anxiously, as she noticed.

 

“Would it keep you if I did?” she asked back with benevolent irony in her voice.

 

He tilted his head almost apologetically and crinkled his nose. “Fair point well made,” he replied in the same tone.

 

She knew he wasn't offended, but when he made a move to step back and let her lead the way, she captured his hook and held him back. “Hey.” He turned around to her again with a question in his eyes. She smiled that special, slightly shy smile reserved only for him, combined with a quickly stolen glance at his lips, and added: “I don't mind at all.” It was the truth.

 

His face lit up, and a devilish glint sparked up in his eyes. Emma's fingers were still tightly wrapped around his hook, its cold steel making her palm tingle, and with a quick yank of it he pulled her close. She followed eagerly and, in one fluent move, leaned into him, rolled onto the balls of her feet and kissed him lightly on the mouth, the tip of her tongue quickly brushing over his lips. Almost automatically, his head pushed a little forward, capturing her lips to return the kiss. 

 

“Ewww, guys, gross!” scolded Henry's voice from behind; he'd come back to the door to see what took them so long. Emma let go of Hook's hook and rolled her eyes while her son added: “You need a room. Which is why we should go get this apartment before someone else snatches it from under our noses.”

 

“Kid...!” Emma warned, but Henry had already left the room again, and Hook grinned.

 

“Always the spitfire,” he commented, “but with all his ancestry I'd be surprised if sass wasn't his middle name.”

 

“I can hear you, pirate!” Mary Margaret barged in; she was just descending the stairs again.

 

“Nothing but a compliment, Milady,” Hook retorted smoothly and swayed out his right arm along with his head tilt.

 

“Let's go,” Emma sighed and added: “He's right. I really need my own place.”

 

_Who am I to object?_ Hook thought and followed her eagerly, as usual.

 

The apartment Henry had picked was situated at the harbor, directly down by the mole; Emma hadn't expected it was that close to the sea. The landlord was in fact a landlady, an elderly woman and friend of Granny's she knew by sight. She left them the keys and told them to take their time and just drop by later; she herself lived on the ground floor of the three-storey-house.

 

Almost a little nervously, Emma unlocked the door and let Henry in; she followed with careful steps, and Hook, with a little distance, was the last one. At first sight, it was a beautiful apartment, even a little similar to Mary Margaret's: downstairs there was a big open kitchen area with a large wooden table and six solid chairs, a spacious living room, a small bathroom and a small bedroom which was obviously supposed to be the guest room. In the living room, there was even a fireplace, she noticed with glee. A spiral staircase was leading upstairs. The windows looked down on the harbor with the mole and fishing boats and sailing ships; Emma smiled at the sight and threw a quick sideways glance at Hook to check his reaction. But she was surprised to see that he was barely examining the room or the view that was really beautiful; his eyes were resting on her, a slight smile creasing the skin around them. But then, of course he'd be concerned about  _her_ more than about anything else. A cozy warmth spread in her chest.

 

All by themselves, her lips curled into returning the smile, while she asked almost casually: “What do you think?”

 

He tilted his head in a shrug and scratched behind his ear, then waved his hand in an all-encompassing move. “It looks like a nice place to settle down for you and the lad,” he commented.

 

Her eyes grew a nuance darker when she murmured with an unusually coy smile: “I guess maybe you'll come and visit some time?”

 

For a moment, he looked to the side and snorted his little hoarse laugh. “Perhaps more than just some time?” he then replied and smiled back, tilting his head. “If you'll have me...”

 

Emma blushed and averted her eyes for a moment, but before she could reply, Henry called from upstairs in a definitely elated voice: “Mom! Come here! You have to see this!”

 

Hook smiled and motioned his head towards the staircase. “That lad seems thrilled about it.”

 

“ _Mom!_ ” Henry's voice grew impatient.

 

“I'm coming!” Emma hurried upstairs and found her son in the spacious master bedroom; she saw immediately what he meant, and she was absolutely mesmerized. The bedroom had huge windows from the floor almost to the ceiling which gave the room the impression of openness, and the view was nothing less than breathtaking; from here, from the middle of the room, the mole and ships were not visible, because the upper floor was too high to see them. The only thing they could see from the windows was the water, and the sea was of a deep blue today and seemed endless... it was like being on the open sea, and the only limit was the horizon where the sky and the waterline met. 

 

Emma looked at Henry with her mouth a little open, and she was completely enchanted. The little brigand that was her son smiled at her. “Nice view, huh?”

 

She ruffled his hair, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat; it took her a few moments before she was able to speak. “You can say that, kid...” Her voice was hoarse, and one look at his face was enough to know what he was thinking. She was thinking the same.  _Killian will love it_ , and the thought warmed her heart, and it warmed her heart that her son cared about that, too. Instinctively, Emma knew that this was the place where she wanted to start building her future, the happy one she wasn't afraid of any longer...  _let me guess, with you?_ She felt a happy smile curve her lips. Yes, Killian Jones would be part of that future, and an important one.

 

Meanwhile, downstairs Hook was examining the room; he liked it open and spacious which was why he'd always found the princess bandit's place appealing and homely. He appreciated especially the fireplace, the epitome of coziness to him. He didn't even remember the last time he'd lodged in a home with a fireplace. Images of him and his Swan flashed through his mind, snuggling on a couch in front of a cackling fire... or on a fluffy rug on the floor, the heat of the fire caressing their bare bodies, painting patterns on their skin, glistening with sweat, as they were making love...

 

The sound of footsteps woke him from his daydreams when Emma and her son descended the stairs, and he chuckled and shook his head at himself and his fluffy thoughts. Some pirate he'd become... His Swan and the lad were smiling almost identical smiles. He raised his eyebrows at them in a questioning way. “So, how's the verdict?” he asked casually. 

 

Emma and Henry exchanged a conspiratorial glance. It was obvious that  _he_ loved the place; but he was so busy hiding it that he didn't even notice how much that warmed both Emma's and Henry's hearts. She put her arm around the boy's shoulders. “I think we found our berth.”

 

Hook couldn't help but grin happily at her choice of words, and Henry rolled his eyes; it was striking how much he resembled his mother in that moment. “Come on, Killian,” he said, “let's go and buy a phone for you while mom seals the deal with the landlady.”

 

***

A mere fortnight later, Emma and Hook were entering her new apartment, both  carrying heavy cardboxes with clothes and kitchen stuff. She had him seen take care of both random and particularly tricky tasks and therefore wasn't surprised of the dexterity he handled the boxes with, despite of having only one hand. She couldn't suppress a smile when she thought that she was the first one who should know that his hook was as good as a hand – if not even better sometimes.

 

With a huff he put the cardbox he was carrying on the kitchen counter; as she'd packed the boxes a bit carelessly and not very neatly, the pots and pans inside made a clattering sound. "When are you moving here for good?" he wanted to know.

 

Emma shrugged. "Soon," she replied a little vaguely, "I just need to buy a few more things, and we're good."

 

Hook tilted his head and scrutinized her closely. "Then what's keeping you?" he asked matter-of-factly and, as always, hitting the nail right on the head.

 

She sighed, knowing there was no use in being evasive. "It's a big step," she admitted a little hesitantly, not wanting to look like she was getting cold feet about this all, because she really wasn't. "It probably sounds stupid, but it feels like I'm moving out, away from the... bosom of the family,” – with her fingers she made air quotes – “for the very first time." She shrugged again and added ironically: "It's not like I haven't been alone for the most part of my life..."

 

"That doesn't sound stupid at all, love," he contradicted quietly, as always understanding what was moving her. He'd made a similar experience: although he'd always been surrounded by his crew on the Jolly Roger, at the end of the day he'd been alone all his life after his brother had passed; this had only been interrupted by a short period of time a few years later when Milah had been by his side, but after the Dark One had taken her life along with his hand he'd been alone again. And yet, after he'd given up his ship to get to his Swan and bring her back to Storybrooke, after he'd taken quarters at Granny's, he'd felt as if for the first time in his life he was really and truly alone, on his own. It had taken him time to get used to. Given how lonely his lost girl had been all her life it had to be difficult, even scary to move back into quietude after finally having experienced the – sometimes annoying – bliss of living something like a family life. He couldn't blame her for dreading it a little.

 

She nodded slowly. "Well, since Henry brought me to Storybrooke, it will be the first time I'll be staying in my own place. The first time it'll be just me and Henry." She threw him a quick sideways glance, before she added a little hastily: "New York doesn't count. That place wasn't real until..." She hesitated only for the fraction of a second and then went on: "...until  _you_ walked in like you owned the place."

 

He looked away for a moment and snorted a little laugh when he remembered that occasion; slowly, the pain over  _that_ experience subsided into a faint memory and was replaced by a quiet joy about her words. It was the first time she'd admitted openly that her life in New York, the year she'd spent away from Storybrooke, from her parents, from  _him_ , hadn't been real. It struck him suddenly that not only the lad had to deal with the loss of a year of his life. "You will do great, Swan," he told her firmly, "as usual."  _I have yet to see you fail,_ echoed his voice reassuringly in the back of her mind. "This is Storybrooke, you will still be  _home_ .” He waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “Your parents and all your friends are just around the corner."

 

Emma smiled that vulnerable, almost shy little smile that was reserved only for him, as he'd started to notice, but she didn't reply. She didn't avert her eyes, but was looking at him with that quiet, almost a little insecure expression on her beautiful face, as if she was waiting for something, quietly urging him to go one step farther, to give her more. A warm gleam wrapped itself around his heart.

 

He cocked his head again. "And, so am I," he added in a deliberately nonchalant tone. Emma's face lit up. She reached for his hand; still a very unusual gesture for her, yet all the more endearing it was to him.

 

"Come on, Hook," she said, "I want to show you something.  Upstairs." She pulled him towards the stairs.

 

"Upstairs?" he echoed in an amused tone, following eagerly, of course, basically like he'd done ever since they'd met. "What could be upstairs that requires my prompt attention, Swan? Your bedroom, I take it?" His teasing voice dropped a few nuances and assumed that velvety tone that made her toes curl and her spine tingle.

 

Emma laughed and let go of his hand. "Not what you think, pirate," she threw mockingly over her shoulder and sprinted up the stairs in a fast pace. "You're not  _that_ irresistible, you know."

 

"Ah, but I have yet to see you resist me, darling," he teased back and followed closely on her heels, curious what she was up to. She disappeared into the largest of the rooms with him in pursuit. At first he didn't notice what she meant to show him, because he was simply so mesmerized by the sight of  _her_ . Yes, this was actually Emma tough-lass Swan, standing in the middle of her new, half-furnished bedroom, her arms spread like wings, a bright, almost blinding smile on her face, so happy and joyful and carefree that it made his heart leap.

 

"So?" she inquired impatiently and also a little breathlessly when he wouldn't comment. "Do you like the view?"

 

Hook nodded almost solemnly, not taking his eyes off of her. "Indeed, I do like the view, my love,” he declared, his voice feeling a little rough with emotion, “very much so, I might add."

 

"Not me!" she huffed and rolled her eyes, blushing a little along the way, although she had to admit that she didn't mind his habit, maybe rooted in his old-fashioned ways, of never missing out on paying a compliment whenever the occasion arose. She stepped aside and swayed out her arm in an all-encompassing way, giving him a little push towards the glass front of the spacious room. Only then he noticed what she was showing him, and his jaw literally dropped when he saw it.

 

He took a step closer to the window front and swallowed hard; a telltale muscle in his jaw clenched. The blue of the sea and the sky was reflected in his eyes while he was drinking in the sight; it was absolutely breathtaking. From here above, the street and the mole weren't visible, and all the eye could reach was the water, touching the sky at the distant horizon, creating an illusion of infinity he hadn't seen in a long time. He threw her a sideways glance from under his long eyelashes and noticed that she was watching him intently and with a such tender expression on her face that it simply took his breath away. The thought alone that she had brought him here to point out the view to him because she knew how much he'd love it, meant the world to him.

 

"Quite spectacular indeed," he finally confirmed after a few moments of silence, his voice slightly more hoarse than usually. He almost couldn't handle the happiness on her face and scratched behind his ear before motioning his hand to the window. "This is East," he told her matter-of-factly and waved his hand to her bed in his typical move, "so you shall have the privilege to watch the sunrise from your bed."

 

Emma smiled and shrugged. "I'm not a morning person." She took a step nearer, invading his personal space, and went on almost casually: "But I was thinking, maybe... we could watch it together?" There was the shy smile again, and he could tell by the way her breathing quickened that it  _still_ meant a little leap of faith for her to ask him that, even if she had truly let down all her walls for him by now. That didn't mean she was invulnerable, after all; somewhere inside her, there was still the little lost girl that had encountered nothing but rejection in her life. Only that she had learned now to trust him, finally believing her heart and soul were safe with him.

 

He raised his left arm and smoothed out her hair with his hook, tilting his head in a nod, and answered softly: “Aye, perhaps we could.”

 

She saw that he was struggling with his feelings, and so was she; but those feelings were all positive and heart-warming and gut-clenching and not frightening at all, and so she added: " _Often_ ."

 

Hook scratched behind his ear and averted his eyes for a moment before flashing her his heart-stopping grin and cocking his head, paired with a quirking of his eyebrow, and replied: "I told you, Swan, all you have to do is ask."

 

She shoved her hands in the back pockets of her skin tight jeans and grinned back. “Good.”

 

He looked over his shoulder, as if his gaze was magically drawn to the window, the sea, the horizon. He felt only a very faint trace of nostalgia at the thought of all those years when this view had been the first thing and the last he'd see every day. Partly, it had been an exciting life, but mostly, he'd learned to admit to himself a long time ago, it had been restless and empty. He'd been lost for such a long time that he'd forgotten how it felt to have a home, just like his Swan.

 

“Hey, Captain,” her voice woke him from his thoughts, and he spun his head around to her again, just to be hypnotized by her slight, flirtatious smile and the gleam in her green eyes. She swayed a little back and forth on the balls of her feet and batted her eyelashes playfully, stealing a quick glance at his mouth. “You in for some pillaging and plundering?” she purred.

 

Hook thought he'd heard wrong at first, but the wicked expression on her face matched her words. The skin around his eyes crinkled a little. He leaned a bit forward and tilted his head, more than intrigued by her choice of words. Yes, there was indeed a little pirate in her, he'd always known it. “You really don't hold a pirate's life in very high esteem, do you?” he asked with a slight growl in his voice and narrowed his eyes while his nose crinkled and his eyebrows shot up; his teasing was obvious, though.

 

Emma took a step nearer, closing the distance between them, invading his personal space like a looter herself again, and glanced up at him from under her long eyelashes. “I do have very high expectations,” she answered in a smokey voice that was definitely laced with sex and put both hands on the lapels of his leather vest, her fingers spread like wings. He turned his eyes down at them without moving his head, and she let the fingers of her right hand crawl over the edge of the vest and the widely open button border of his black linen shirt until they touched his bare chest, her short fingernails gently grazing through his chest hair. His breathing quickened a little, she noticed with pleasure. “Think you can...  _rise_ to the occasion?” she asked in a more than suggestive tone and threw him an almost challenging glance when he hiked his eyes up to meet hers again.

 

His wicked tongue darted out and ran slowly over his lower lip; he'd always loved a challenge, after all. He flashed her his best predatory smirk and cocked his head again, dropping his voice a few nuances. “I'm always good for a...  _rise_ , love.” His left arm encircled her waist, and he brought his hook to the small of her back, pulling her close with a sudden move and that little raw and primal thrust of his hips; so close that she could feel how accurate his words were. Yep, there was definitely a  _rise_ in the making.

 

She grinned back and wrapped her arms around his neck, like always unable to resist messing up his unruly hair. “And don't I know it,” she replied and pulled his face down for a kiss. 

 

***

It was two months later on a lazy Sunday morning.

 

Emma woke up far too late to watch the sunrise from her bed, but she still enjoyed the view, especially because she wasn't alone. In fact, since she had moved into the new apartment, there had barely been a morning she had woken from her sleep alone; that bed had seen quite an amount of pillaging and plundering already. The moment she opened her eyes, her lips curved into a smile when she felt Hook's muscular right arm draped over her, pulling her close into him in his sleep. She was lying on her left side with her back snuggled to his front, her head resting on his left arm. Her gaze traveled along the horizon, reveling in the peaceful happiness within her, and her smile widened when she closed her eyes again and thought back to the previous evening... they had been setting the table for dinner for them and Henry whom they expected back any minute from the Christmas gift shopping spree David had taken him. Suddenly, she'd reached into her pocket and said... 

 

“ _I have something for you.” She held up a key in front of his face._

 

“ _What is that?” Hook asked with a frown._

 

“ _The key to this apartment,” she replied with a smile._

 

_ His eyes widened for a second and fixed on the metal in Emma's hand, then he turned his eyes to hers and swallowed. “Are you asking me to share your home, Swan?” His voice was hoarse and slightly nervous, although he tried to sound casual. _

 

_ Slowly, she shook her head. “No, stupid,” she answered quietly, “you do that already. I'm offering you to share my life.” _

 

_ His incredible, incredulous eyes wandered to the key again, like drawn by an invisible magnet, and she could clearly read on his face how touched and happy he was and how desperately he wanted to take it. Emma's heart leapt. Hook raised his hand, but instead of taking the key from her, he scratched behind his ear and tilted his head. “What about the lad?” he asked and swallowed again, and she melted a little more inside. _

 

“ _Henry's been pestering me about this for weeks,” she told him and stretched out her hand a little more in a wordless invitation. “Don't you know why he made sure to choose an apartment by the sea, you stupid old pirate?”_

 

_ Hook's gaze traveled from her hand up to her face again and fixed on her eyes, and she saw the same expression in them like when she'd told him that she loved him: full of wonder, filled with awe. They were shining like sapphires, and the fine skin around them crinkled into those adorable laugh lines she'd come to love so much. A muscle along his jaw twitched, and she saw that he was obviously at a loss for words, which was a remarkable thing by itself. A thought came to her out of the blue, and before she could think twice about it, the words tumbled from her mouth: _

 

“ _Let me get this straight – I'm not asking for your hand.” Her heart clenched in the most delicious way when she saw his face fall a little and his gaze drop for one moment._

 

“ _Why, of course not,” he murmured a little flatly._

 

_ She had no idea why she'd brought up that topic, but she added with a soft smile: “I'm a little old-fashioned myself when it comes to that.” Immediately, his eyes came back to life, widened and darted to hers again. Emma knew she didn't have to say more, because he still read her like an open book, every day. And also now, he understood what she was really telling him:  _ _**You should be the one to do the asking, but just not yet.** _

 

_ Finally, his smile bloomed all over his handsome face; that full smile that should be illegal because it blew her off of her feet every time. “I'll keep that in mind,” he answered hoarsely and then, slowly, finally took the key from her and held it up between them. “I swear you shall not regret this,” he said earnestly. _

 

_ She nodded. “I know.” _

 

_ For a moment, time seemed to stand still when they just looked at each other, drowning in each other's eyes; then, the spell was broken by the rattling sound of keys in the entrance door and Henry barging in, loaded with boxes and bags. _

 

“ _Hey guys, what's for dinner?” he greeted them and then stopped himself when he saw them standing close together by the half-set table, grinning at each other like idiots. “Guys?” His face lit up. “Mom? Did you...?”_

 

_ Finally, both turned their faces to him, and Emma didn't reply, but nodded with a beaming smile. _

 

_ Henry grinned. “Cool.” _

 

_ Hook looked away for a moment, slightly flustered, scratched behind his ear and asked: “So, you up for some good, old-fashioned stew, m'boy?” _

 

“ _I'm starving!” Henry replied enthusiastically like the kid that he was and headed for the spiral staircase to take his purchases upstairs. Halfway up on his way, he stopped. “Oh, and Killian...”_

 

_ Hook and Emma both turned their eyes on the boy, and she thought how much she loved the naturalness her son displayed when he called her lover by his first name, he always had. She'd come to use his first name more often, too, the more time passed; but she also knew that to part of her he would always and for ever be Hook, the stupid old pirate she'd fallen in love with a long time ago. _

 

_ Henry grinned again and pointed to the key Hook was still carefully holding between his ringed fingers. “You might not want to buy a keychain for this thing yet... before Christmas.” Then he raced up the stairs without waiting for an answer. _

 

Emma came back to the present and reveled in the cocooning warmth of the blankets and her fuzzy memories while she started to stroke Hook's forearm lightly, almost absentmindedly with her fingertips. She didn't want to wake him up, but just couldn't resist touching him, caressing the warm skin and the soft sprinkle of dark hair on his forearm. In response, he sighed into the back of her neck where his face was buried and stirred a little in his sleep. She shivered pleasantly at the feeling of his breath on her skin and noticed that at least a  _ part _ of him was already  _ more _ than awake, and his hoarse voice floated through her mind:  _ you're such a bloody siren, Swan...  _ she loved it when he said things like that, addressing and appreciating the wicked, sensual side in her he'd been the one to unleash. 

 

She smiled to herself and snuggled even closer into his body, pressing her derrière into his delicious hardness. Slowly and gradually, he seemed to wake up because he softly started to caress her; at first it were just his fingers that fluttered and moved, lazily crawling underneath her tank top and painting circles and wavy patterns on the skin of her chest, right between her breasts, above her heart. The more his body came to life, though, the more and deftly his hand moved, and he caressed her breasts; at first, he only ran his knuckles along their undersides a few times, very carefully and lightly, before he cupped them one after the other, weighing them in his hand like he loved to, squeezing them ever-so-tenderly. Almost casually, he stroked the pad of his thumb over her left, taut peak, once, twice... and she held her breath and only let it out in a long exhale when he pulled his hand away and brought it to her shoulder for a moment to push aside her hair. 

 

Emma felt his hot lips on her bare shoulder, his scruff grazing her skin, and from there he moved to the back and then the side of her neck, showering her with kisses, gently using his tongue and his teeth on her, his hot breath on her throat making her shiver with desire. His hand slowly traveled around her ribcage and back again to her front, slowly gliding down over her stomach. It was her turn to shift and sigh now, partly because all her senses were already tingling, partly due to her eager anticipation, even before his hand had come anywhere near her pubic mound. While he never stopped the sensual assault of her neck with his mouth, he paid special attention to the small streak of bare skin between the hem of her tank top and the lace-trimmed edge of her panties, stroking along it, caressing it with a touch of his thumb and thenar as light as a butterfly's wing. Then, achingly slowly, his warm palm glided lower, over her pubic bone and pubic mound, causing her to automatically arch her spine, throw her head back against his shoulder and press her backside even more into him, feeling the hotness of his rigid flesh through the sheer material of her panties.

 

When Hook's skilled fingers started to play over the already damp silk covering her most sensitive spot, her thighs parted in a silent invitation, a begging for more, and her hips started to rock softly, almost desperately against his. She felt his lips tremble against her feverish skin and knew that he was tonelessly chuckling.  _ That smug bastard. _ Usually never holding back, today she had to suppress her moans because Henry was home this weekend. Instead, she closed her eyes, exhaled sharply and and bit her lip when he started to tease her relentlessly and work his very own magic on her. He knew her body like he knew her heart and soul, and he knew  _ exactly _ what he had to do to her to make her come undone and fall to pieces in his arms –  _ repeatedly _ , as he loved to point out – , and without her ever having told him what to do; he had simply  _ known _ from the beginning.  _ There's only one rule... _

 

The words she had bitten back from her lips fluttered like caged birds through her head, the fingers of her right hand clawed at the sheets, and she hoped desperately he could sense the words somehow, would understand... but then he always did.  _ Open book. _ Even if her voice remained silent, her body clearly cried out to him:  _ Oh God, oh, please... _

 

Her breathing was heavy now, her heartbeat frantic, and she squirmed against him in a silent plea until he finally took pity on her and slowly,  _ very _ slowly pulled down her panties – or knickers, as he insisted on calling them. She almost sobbed with relief when he put his hand to her hip and pulled her close,  _ claiming _ her, and she felt his flesh so smooth, yet so hard at her entrance, its throbbing hotness mirroring the burning of her own desire. She was more than ready for him and held her breath when he entered her slowly and, like always, reveled in the feeling how neatly and thoroughly he filled her; and now she couldn't help a tiny whimper escape her throat.

 

Then he started to move inside her, holding her body firmly close to his, and Emma followed his lead and moved along with him. It wasn't thrusting, it was more of a soft rolling of their hips, accompanied by the sounds of their quickening breaths. While they moved in perfect sync, his hand had found its place between her legs again; it was firm and warm and knowing and caressed her most sensitive spot with slow, almost lazy circular motions... tender, but with just the right amount of pressure and firm enough to make her completely lose her mind, and  _ God _ , if he had two hands to deliciously torment her like that, she swore she wouldn't be able to handle it. She put her right hand on his and laced her fingers through his while her other hand grabbed his left forearm right above his mutilated wrist and held on to him. 

 

They were making love slowly, calmly, lazily even, accompanied by lots of little sighs, although at moments she badly wanted to sob and cry out his name. He continued to kiss her neck, nipping at it and even using his teeth, and she tilted her head to give him better access and press a kiss on the scarred skin of his left arm. 

 

Hook increased the pace only towards the end, when he felt that she was almost there, like him, and after a few well-placed harder thrusts, like most times, they reached their climax together; he pressed his face into her shoulder when they did, while Emma threw her head back in ecstasy and bit her lip once more. They let it wash over them and stayed like this for another minute or two, listening to their slowly decelerating heartbeats, while he was still inside her, holding her close. 

 

Then she couldn't take it anymore, she had to look at him. She moved so that he slipped out of her and turned around in his arms, finally facing him.  _ There's my sunrise, _ she thought and mentally rolled her eyes at herself for having such cheesy thoughts. They looked at each other and smiled, and his eyes had that special, cocky glint that always preceded his teasing. His wicked tongue darted out and moistened his sinful lips before he said: “Well, good morning to you, too, beautiful.”

 

She ran the back of her right hand slowly over his well-toned chest, enjoying the feeling of his slightly damp body hair against her skin, and brushed her knuckles against his scruffy throat. “I could get used to that,” she murmured and moved a little closer to capture his lips for a tender, lingering kiss.

 

Hook's hand rested on her waist, and after their mouths had parted again, his lips curved into that slightly self-satisfied smirk; sometimes, he just couldn't help it. He was a pirate, after all. “Be a good lass, Swan, and perhaps I'll take it into due consideration.” 

 

Emma rolled her eyes at his smugness, but before she could give him an adequate reply, a knock at the door interrupted her, and Henry's voice came from outside: “Guys... time to get up,” he called. “We were going sailing today, remember? Better rise and shine, you bilge rats.”

 

Hook chuckled, and she hissed: “ _Really?!_ Haven't I told you to watch your mouth around Henry?”

 

“Why would I do that, love?” He batted his eyelashes in feigned innocence. “I was under the impression that _you_ are already watching my mouth all the time,” he teased and grinned.

 

“Not funny,” Emma growled, propped herself up on her right elbow and and called over his shoulder: “Put the cocoa and the tea on, kid. We'll be with you in a minute.”

 

“Too much information, mom,” came the dry reply, and she rolled her eyes when she heard Henry's steps shuffle away from the bedroom door.

 

“Well, at least he lets us sleep at night,” she commented and sat up.

 

“ _Sleep_ , darling?” Hook echoed with a smirk, running his hand playfully up her bare arm. “Why, isn't that a bit preposterous?” 

 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes even harder. “Whatever,” she replied and added: “We're lucky, compared to my parents. Little Neal isn't there yet.”

 

“True,” he nodded in barely veiled amusement and sat up, too. “Your father does look a little beside himself at times. He's starting to show his age.” His voice had assumed an almost gleeful touch.

 

“Come on!” Emma chastised and elbowed him. “ _You_ should be about the last person to mock other people's age, old man.”

 

He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “And  _ you _ should be about the first person to acknowledge that, regardless of my age, I'm perfectly well  _ endowed _ for any aspiration you might entertain.” 

 

She pressed her lips together for a moment to force back her grin; how he could coat his sometimes blatant lewdness in his old-fashioned, bookish words so effortlessly, never failed to impress her. And, she had to admit, there was something absurdly sexy about it. “Stop making fun of David!” she finally snapped when she had her hormones under control again. “What do you think  _ you _ would look like after a sleepless night with a colicky infant?!”

 

Hook didn't even bother to reign his mocking eyebrow in. “Need you really ask, love? Still devilishly handsome, of course.”

 

“Yeah, right,” she snorted. “Wouldn't affect you at all, would it?”

 

 _What would I give to find out_ , flitted through his mind all of a sudden, and also the prince's words from not so long ago reverberated in his mind when Emma's father had teased him about “the joys of parenthood”: _Some day soon, I'll be laughing at you..._ Hook remembered how the prince's allusion had thrown him completely off track and hit him in a moment when he'd still been asking himself if this was all really happening, and when he hadn't even _dared_ think that far. But since then, the thought of having a family, a child with the love of his life had crossed his mind more than once. And how on earth had they ended up talking about a baby keeping them from sleeping?

 

Damn, only the previous evening his Swan had very casually mentioned wedlock, and now she'd brought up his possible reactions to the joys of parenthood? Could that really be a mere coincidence? He'd never been the one to believe in coincidence; now, if that wasn't fate smiling at him, he didn't know what it was. He'd never been a man to let an occasion slip through his fingers.

 

"And wouldn't you like to know," he blurted out.

 

Emma's eyes widened, and the same moment they were out, he wished he could bite back his words, and subconsciously, he pressed his lips together. What the bloody hell had he been thinking? How long had he known Emma Swan? She who always needed her time before making a pass... she who'd already taken so many leaps of faith with him over these last two months that she almost deserved a medal for it? She who only the previous evening had asked him to share her life _and_ hinted at not being averse from giving him her hand in wedlock one day... hadn't that been enough? Did he have to go and ruin it by pressuring her with what had to look like the demand for something she perhaps wasn't ready for yet? _Bugger it, Jones, you're such a twit sometimes._

 

In his long, long life Killian Jones had always been devoid of three things: a family, a home and love. He'd found the love of his life in Emma Swan, and a home with her – at the end of the day even a family. But all those years he'd never believed it would ever be possible for him to become a father. That possibility now, the hope that this could really become true, that maybe he really had the chance to have his very own family with the woman he loved had forced his tongue. He'd actually forgotten that since that memorable day he'd been bested and tied to a tree by a blonde, green-eyed warrior princess in a red leather jacket, she'd always come first, and always would; _always_. He swallowed thickly. _Gods, please don't let her be scared off and back away._

 

For a moment, Emma just looked at him with an unreadable expression, her lips slightly parted in surprise. Had she heard right? Had he really been hinting at having a baby with her? Automatically, her mind went back to the talk she'd had with her mother a few weeks back when Mary Margaret had bluntly asked her if she was thinking of having a baby. She'd brushed her off quickly, but she'd also been intrigued by the thought and never really forgotten about it. Was she really ready for a bond that tight? _Oh, don't be ridiculous_ , she chastised herself mentally, _the bond between you and him couldn't be any tighter anyway, and you know it._

 

Did she really want another child? She had Henry now, and she loved him as dearly as a mother could love her son. But she also had never really gotten over the fact that she'd missed out on seeing him grow up during his first ten years; she'd been deprived of all the wonders and joys coming with a child's first smile, the first step, the first word... and suddenly, maybe for the first time, Emma started to understand her own mother's wish, guiltily uttered in the Echo Cave back in Neverland – that she wanted to have another baby. It had hurt her a little back then, but now she understood, because she was feeling the same. She also knew that Henry would be the last one to resent that.

 

A look in Hook's blue eyes revealed to her exactly what he was thinking; his front was slightly furrowed, and he pressed his lips together in that way that made his jaw clench. He was scrutinizing her anxiously, almost in a pleading way, and a string pulled heavily on her heart. Obviously, the thought of having a baby with her had elated him so much that he had blurted out that line without thinking, and now he regretted it – because he was afraid she'd reject the idea and would maybe retreat a step back into that shell of hers again. That stupid idiot – didn't he know that all the last remnants of her shell had quietly crumbled away in his arms already a long time ago? Didn't he know she'd never be able to untie herself from him, even if she wanted to? And, _by God_ , didn't he know that she wanted nothing more than to tie herself to him for ever? Well, it was her job to make him understand exactly that.

 

Killian Jones, her best friend and closest ally, her lover, her supporter and companion, her savior and soulmate, her biggest weakness and her greatest strength, her _One True Love_ – would she like to know how it would be, watching him cradle a baby in his arm in the middle of the night and soothe the crying with his voice, _their_ baby? Really, how was that even a question? She licked her lips in that slightly embarrassed way of hers and averted her eyes for a second before fixing them on his again.

 

Then, slowly and tentatively, the tiniest smile blossomed on her face, and she replied almost shyly:

 

"Perhaps I would."

 

 

_**THE END** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was it with this story - thank you everybody who took that time to read, review and leave kudos. You're all great. I hope you'll check out any following stories some time in the future.


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